


The Tale of St. Caelum

by JonathanAnubian



Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character-centric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other: See Story Notes, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 16:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16664347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonathanAnubian/pseuds/JonathanAnubian
Summary: Waking up in the midst of a war zone is not what he would consider fun. But things could be worse. Much, much, worse.Droy is your typical teenager... well not quite. Raised in a military family and on his way to becoming a veterinarian this young man has a secret or two up his sleeve.In a place where everything is trying to kill you how will one teenager become the saving grace of a universe where death is the least of your worries?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The main character is not from the 40K universe. He is a character I devised for a game that never happened.
> 
> I'm new to 40K. If you guys have any suggestions or corrections let me know.

Waking with a groan of pain and confusion the young man opened his eyes to the dreary gray of concrete. Curling in on himself he let his hands wander over his stomach, chest, then back. When he didn’t feel anything that was particularly sensitive or out of place he sighed in relief. His head wasn’t pounding, though there was a bit of foggy confusion. All in all he probably didn’t have a concussion. Which was good, seeing as how he couldn’t exactly fix that. Silky golden blonde hair fell into liquid sky blue eyes as he got his arms under himself and rose from the ground. All around him he could see the destruction of what used to be some sort of storefront. The i-beam that had been holding up a part of the roof was bending downward, barely keeping back large chunks of rebar laden concrete. Carefully getting to his feet he slowly made his way through the structure, pausing every time he heard something shift or creak. It was harrowing trying to pick his way through the giant mess but he eventually ended up outside. Breathing easily for a moment he took in the absolute devastation of what once must have been a fair sized town. The sound of distant shells echoed in that desolate place and he felt his heart seize in his chest.

The last thing he remembered was coming home from his volunteer job at the animal shelter and getting a text from his mother. What she sent was a nearly incomprehensible mess of letters and numbers. Something that might have been broken Latin. It was no secret that his mother tended to have… episodes. Most people thought she was crazy. But he knew better. Whenever she went into one of her semi-frantic trances she always spoke the truth of things. Things that were happening in the past. Things that were happening in the present. And things that might come to pass in the future. Father told him that her family was known as a group of really nice, if a little cracked, people. Stopping to answer his phone under a street lamp he remembered it flickering and a sense of nausea overcoming him. The world went strange and he’d blacked out. Since he didn’t find his phone on the ground or in his pockets he assumed he must have dropped it. How he’d ended up in the middle of what appeared to be a war zone he had no idea. But it wasn’t a very good place to be. As his situation began to dawn on him the older teen scrambled to get into cover. Getting shot at was a real possibility in an active war zone. Even if the coast looked clear he had no idea who the combatants were. At the very least he could hear the sound of the shelling and knew which direction they were aiming. It was pretty far off, judging by how muffled it was.

Moving from cover to cover, inching around buildings and keeping a sharp eye out for anyone holding a weapon, he made his way through the town. A couple times now he’d had to double back or go a different way because of collapsed walls and debris. The smell of blood, smoke, and rot filled his nostrils as the distinct tang of ozone permeated the air. Visibility was iffy at times when he encountered still burning fires. Sometimes he’d come upon a corpse and the sense of impending doom made his palms sweat. The distant sounds of screaming were becoming louder. Shaking, mouth dry, he peeked his head around another corner and scrambled backwards in surprise. Running full tilt toward him was a group of eight armed men.

Tripping over some debris he fell to the ground as the men bolted past him, screaming and yelling in a language he couldn’t understand. Hot on their heels were creatures that made his stomach roll. Launching itself through the air the strange female-esque monster slammed into the back of one of the men, slamming the both of them to the ground. With razor sharp claws and gargoyle-like feet it began to tear at the man furiously, laughing euphorically as it did so. Bile rose in his throat as the man let out blood-curdling screams of agony. His body went cold, then numb. A second one slashed at the man it had caught up to, cutting him in half at the middle. When what he was watching finally registered to his stalled brain a feeling of righteous energy filled him. Jumping up from the ground he clenched his fists. “Hey!” Getting the attention of the strange creatures they turned to look at him and started to laugh in sadistic pleasure. “My what a pretty little thing you are~ I’ll enjoy breaking you.”

Hurtling toward him with grotesque glee on its face the creature reached toward him with an outstretched claw. Ignoring a yell behind him the young man raised his hand as the creature reached its apex. A golden light erupted from his hands and a moment later the creature began to scream and wail horribly as it fell to the ground, clutching a stump where its clawed hand had once been. It was like nothing he had ever heard before. Cries of anger, desperation, and pain filled the air. More of the demonic beings rounded on him as he stood his ground, a golden two-handed sword clutched in his hands. Moving swiftly he stabbed the second demon, who clawed at the wound in its chest before turning to ash and scattering in the wind.

Pain lanced through him as something tore his hoodie and scraped down his back, cutting through the vest he wore. With nothing to hold them back any longer large white feathered wings erupted from his back, flapping once or twice, before tucking against his body so as not to get in the way. The demons screeched at him and attacked, only to be repelled by his sword once again. The battle was a short one. The demons were relentless but there had only been four of them. As the last one fell and turned to ash he let the sword drop from his fingers. It never reached the ground. Instead it broke up into golden particles and evaporated.

Body shaking from the strain of combat and the wound on his back he collapsed to the ground on his knees. His hands shook and his stomach rolled from the adrenaline as he tried to get his breathing under control. When the rushing sound finally left his ears he could hear the moans of the injured and dying. Stumbling to his feet he rushed toward the first downed man and knelt. Pressing his hands against the man’s torso he tried to give the soldier a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, you’re going to be okay.” He was so shaken from his fight that he forgot his father’s first rule, and the most important. ‘Never let anyone see you performing a miracle.’ He’d argued that what he did was not a miracle but the rule still stood. If people got wind of his abilities his father couldn’t do much to protect him from those who would wish to abuse his power. But he wouldn’t stop now. Seeing someone in so much pain compelled him to help, and damn the consequences.

The man beneath his hands gasped and started muttering in awe as his power flooded the soldier’s frame. Going from being cut in half to being perfectly fine again in minutes would be a pretty big shock to anyone. Getting up he moved to the next man whose back was nothing more than shredded flesh and did the same thing. The blood and mess didn’t bother him as his jeans were soaked through. At one point he even threw off his wrecked hoodie and vest so it would stop getting in the way. Leaving him in jeans and a ripped t-shirt.

By the time he was finished healing the last man’s injuries the other soldiers had returned and were talking amongst themselves. The piles of ash were poked with their affixed bayonets and the newly healed men were examined by what he thought might have been their medic. With a tired sigh he stood and moved away from the stunned soldier, wiping his forehead with his forearm. Expending that much energy was a little tiring and his head had begun to hurt, buzzing with words and phrases that he shouldn’t have been able to understand. Of course he’d learned long ago that language was no barrier to him. No matter what language was spoken he was able to both understand and speak it fluently. Even if he had never learned it before. Jokingly his brother referred to it as ‘speaking in tongues.’

“Excuse me.” He finally said when the men didn’t seem very keen on addressing him. Immediately all talking ceased and he was suddenly the center of attention. “I’m afraid I’m a little lost. Would you gentlemen mind pointing me in the right direction?” Blank stares met his question and he suddenly felt very awkward. His wings shifted on his back nervously and the men seemed to snap out of whatever trance they were in. “R-right. O-o-of course My Lord, th-this way.” He felt his cheeks go faintly red in embarrassment. Lord? He’d only ever heard his father called Lord, and it was a very rare occasion. Brigadier General Lawrence Elwood Ackland much preferred his military rank to what he considered a ‘frivolous title.’

What followed was a careful trek through the destroyed town, the men around him watching everything as if some horrific monster was going to jump out. Considering the demons he’d killed earlier he could understand their apprehension. After a half hour of walking through the desolation he could see a bunch of large military tents set up in a cleared area. Snipers and guards were posted around, keeping an eye out for incoming dangers. The men were greeted by the guards, who gave them startled looks of confusion at the state of their uniforms. Considering that he could only heal wounds and not fabric a couple of them looked a real mess. “What the fuck happened to you guys?” He frowned a little at the language but made no comment. Knowing and living around soldiers he understood that they had a certain way about them. Both his father and older brother had a strange, dark, sense of humor, among other things.

“We were ambushed by Daemonettes. This guy,” he motioned toward the teen who smiled weakly, “literally put me back together. After I was cut in half!” With that first statement the floodgates opened and the men all started talking at once. “He killed them with a sword! A sword made of Light!”

“I could see my spine, then just like that the pain was gone and I was whole again!”

“He must have been sent to us by the Emperor!” Giving them all an apprehensive look he could feel his feathers puff up defensively. This had the detrimental effect of drawing attention to his very obvious wings. The checkpoint guardsmen’s jaws dropped in awe and he suddenly wanted to fall through the ground. Normally he wasn’t all that shy, being a very friendly individual. But being stared at in open awe was unsettling.

“Right, okay, head on through.” With little prompting they ushered him past the checkpoint and into the camp. Walking past the first couple of tents, and nearly being knocked over by a woman wearing strange armor who looked vaguely nun-like, he quickly came to realize that this was not a camp but a triage center. Everywhere he looked were the wounded and the dying. Stopping in his tracks he felt his fingers begin to itch and hands twitch. The men with him stopped when he did and looked at him oddly. “My Lord, the Command tent is still quite a ways away.” He didn’t even hear the man. He was too busy staring in horror at the men left to die because there weren’t enough healers to see to them all. No one tried to stop him as he lurched toward the first stretcher, falling to his knees. Hands glowing he pressed them against the man’s head and thigh. The gash that had taken the soldier’s eye and his missing leg started to grow back almost immediately. The soldiers he had saved from the demons milled around, watching him with nigh worship in their eyes.

Getting up he moved to the next stretcher. The man’s chest had a nasty hole through it and he was gurgling as liquid filled his lungs. Leaving behind another healed soldier he moved to the next dying man. Noticing the guardsmen standing around one of the armored women came forward angrily, intent on telling them off and forcing them out of the tent. Her eyes fell on the winged teen and she froze, mouth falling open. Flesh mended before her eyes and she exhaled a breath in awe. Once the initial moment of shock and awe passed she realized the soldiers were standing in the way and marched toward them. “You lot, out. Return to your posts.” The men hesitated as they looked between the teen and the angry hospital nun. Her eyes narrowed and they decided not to fight with the armored woman, it was clear who would win.

***

Outside the tent the men deliberated on what should be done. “We need to report to Command. He should be fine here. I don’t really want to stop him from fixing up our mates, do you?” Everyone shook their heads. “Should one of us stay here, Sarge? Just in case?” A thoughtful look crossed the man’s face. “Duncan, you stay. Keep as close as you can and watch the kid.” He didn’t know when he’d begun to think of what had to be a Saint sent by the Emperor himself as ‘kid’ but honestly? He looked like a raw recruit who’d never held a gun in his life. No armor, strange clothes, and a wide eyed stare so full of innocence it made Sergeant Janus want to look away in shame.

Heading to the back of the camp they hitched a ride with a transport going back to the regimental headquarters. When they finally arrived Sarge dismissed his squad. “Head to the Mess, I’ll find you there when I’m done.” ‘If they don’t kill me.’ He thought to himself.

With the lieutenant dead and the captain in the field he’d have to go straight to command. Taking a moment to steel himself he headed to the command tent to make his report. Inside there were scribes furiously typing and message runners going in and out. Just his luck the major was in. And the colonel… and the commissar. Nothing showed on his face but he could already feel the sweat rolling down his spine. Snapping a perfect parade salute he waited anxiously to be acknowledged. After a few moments the major finally acknowledged him. “Report, Sergeant.”

Letting his hand drop he scrambled for a moment, trying to explain the situation in a way that would not get him executed. “I’m here to report the death of Lieutenant Watnim.” He paused a moment to compose himself. “It started when a portal opened ahead of us. The lieutenant attempted to hold his position in anticipation of reinforcements, however he was swiftly over-run by the demonic horde. After his position was over-run I ordered a fighting withdrawal to rally point Alpha-2.” He heard the distinct sound of a holster buckle being undone and quickly hurried on. “Three kilometers out we were ambushed by a band of four daemonettes and were swiftly engaged in melee. It happened so fast I didn’t see where he came from, I assume it was the building adjacent. But there a boy of about fourteen or fifteen years old, blonde hair, blue eyes, wearing odd clothes, and wielding a glowing sword.” A round of confused stares met this statement. “After his appearance he charged the daemonettes and… with a single blow of his blade the daemons were reduced to ash.” A resounding silence met this remark. He hurried on. “One managed to get in a glancing blow, tearing his hooded tunic along the back which revealed a pair of pure white feathered wings. When the daemons were dispatched he let go of his sword and it dissolved into a cloud of golden light. Then approached Corporal Duncan and proceeded to… reassemble him.” The colonel stared pointedly at him as he swallowed, preparing to continue his report. He had yet to be executed and he feverishly prayed his luck continued.

“Explain, Sergeant.” He gave a short nod. “Corporal Duncan had been pounced upon by one one the daemonettes and had been bifurcated. The boy knelt beside the Corporal, laid his hands upon him, and was enveloped in a golden glow. Before our eyes his body knit itself back together. When the boy was finished not even his previous scars remained. Then he moved on to Private Gameson who had suffered extreme lacerations to his back. From there we continued on to rally point Alpha-2.”

The colonel leaned closer, his countenance stern. “And where is this boy now?” 

“My squad left him under the guard of Corporal Duncan and the Sisters Hospitaller. When we left he was already in the middle of healing all the guardsmen present. It was decided that we should come to make a full report at all haste.” Finally finished he stood there under the full attention of the entire regiments senior command staff. By now his entire back was drenched in sweat. The only saving grace being the flak armor that hid it from sight. 

From the other side of the room the Commissar stepped forward. “I’d like to meet this boy. Take us to him.” The man said softly. He had no need to raise his voice as he spoke with the authority of the Emperor himself. “Yes sir.”

Following behind the colonel and the commissar he walked more like an automaton than a man. Talk around camp had already spread so they had an audience as they made their way to the colonel’s valkyrie. The entire trip he was sat across from the commissar. He could have sworn that fucker was smirking at him the whole way. When they finally touched down he practically slid out onto the ground. Only the sheer terror kept him going.

Walking behind the colonel and the commissar, who had taken the lead, they came upon a huge commotion. It took little effort for the commissar to part the gathered soldiery.

***

As they passed through the crowd it was hard to ignore the state of their uniforms. Torn, tattered, soaked in blood, and in many cases missing large portions. In those instances of largely exposed flesh he could see perfectly unmarred skin, like that of a babe. Passing through the last ring of the crowded soldiers he found the hospitallers standing around the bent form of a young, blonde, winged, boy. The sergeant had not been attempting to weave an elaborate tale to save himself from the act of cowardice. Glancing back to the sergeant he could see the man relax minutely.

The hospitallers parted to let him get a closer look at the boy. The sight was truly a marvel. He glowed with the divine light of the Emperor himself. The wounds he could see on the soldier’s body were melding themselves back together before his very eyes. When he was finished the boy stood and turned around. His face was youthful, as had been said, and his eyes were a clear, unclouded, blue. He took a step, smiling, before his eyes suddenly rolled back in his head and he collapsed forward… right into the commissar. If he hadn’t reached out to catch him the boy would have hit the ground hard. The colonel had to turn away a moment to compose himself before clearing his throat. “Someone find a stretcher for this lad, he has done us a great service.”

A stretcher seemed to materialize almost instantly and, with more care than anyone had ever seen before, the commissar laid the boy gently upon it. “He’ll be coming back to headquarters with us.” The sisters looked ready to protest but the colonel and the commissar stood fast. “Duncan, grab that side.” The commissar glanced at the sergeant then to the corporal. It was clear the boy had endeared himself to the squad he’d saved from the daemonettes. He let them be.

“It appears as though we’ll have to wait for answers. I imagine performing such a miraculous feat has taken a lot out of the boy.” Commissarr Torvus nodded toward the colonel to indicate he’d heard the man. The sisters had swarmed him and were expressing their fervent belief that the boy was some kind of saint. They had used everything in their power to test the boy for any daemonic taint or corruption. But nothing had effected him. Holy water, incense, chanting, they’d even prodded at him with the bone of an imperial saint. All it had done was make the boy look at them oddly and shoo them away as his attention was focused solely on the wounded.

The trip back to headquarters was a quiet one. The soldiers seemed to relax around the sleeping winged boy, though they frequently watched him in fear whenever they thought he wasn’t focused on them. When they landed a crowd gathered almost immediately to see what all the fuss was about. Gossip spread like wildfire in a camp, even one of this size. The sight of the boy made some start muttering prayers under their breath, though most just gaped, dumbfounded. They took the boy to the medical station to be looked over by the regimental surgeon. If the hospitallers were under some kind of compulsion it would poorly effect their findings. Other than the obvious wings the boy appeared to have no other signs of mutation.

“What’s going on here?” The man asked as the boy was brought in and set down on an examination table. He was set face down, carefully, so as not to damage his wings. The man looked incredulously between the colonel, commissar, and the boy. “I want a full examination. I want to know what he is.” Blinking at the colonel he turned to look over the boy and nodded slowly. “Yes sir. I’ll report my findings once I’m done.” Colonel Ravun led the way out of the curtained room, followed by Commissar Torvus and the two soldiers.

“You and your men are relieved of your duties for the rest of the day, Sergeant. Go eat, find your squad, and rest up.” The men were too well trained to show any hesitation, especially in the presence of a commissar. They gave a proper salute and hurried away, leaving the two officers alone. Commissar Torvus reached up and adjusted his hat thoughtfully. “Shall we retire to my tent for a drink?” Colonel Ravun gave him a knowing look and they left the surgeon to his work.

Once inside the commissars tent Torvus set down his hat and pulled out a bottle of amasec. Pouring it into two snifters he handed one to the colonel who was leaning against the desk nearby. The man took the glass, raised it with a polite nod, and sipped at the alcohol. Torvus held the glass in his palm, warming the liquid before drinking. “Let’s not beat about the bush, Ravun. This discovery could cause quite a stir within the Imperium. If the boy truly is some kind of Saint then the Ecclesiarchy will certainly be getting involved.” The man frowned. “If the Inquisition doesn’t get their hands on him first.” A pensive silence filled the tent. Ravun downed his drink and Torvus sighed. “The only thing we can realistically do is kick this up the chain. And pray to the Emperor that this doesn’t come back to bite us.” Torvus huffed and sipped at his drink. “All we can do is wait for word on the boy’s condition. We can make a plan from there.” Silence fell again. Walking across the room the colonel set his glass down and poured himself another drink. Torvus raised a brow but didn’t say anything. He understood the sentiment. If they didn’t handle this correctly things could go very, very, wrong for them. The wait would not be a comfortable one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Droy wakes up days after falling unconscious and finally meets with Commissar Torvus. How will he take the news that he's been pulled through time and space? Not well.

Waking to light streaming in through a window and the sound of an alarm blaring the blonde teenager yawned. Hitting the alarm clock he slipped out of bed and took a moment to stretch. White wings spread wide behind him as he reached for the heavens. He let out another yawn and padded over to the attached bathroom. Teeth and hair brushed, face washed, and a change of clothes later he was ready to head downstairs. Opening his door he almost collided with someone and jumped back. A light chuckle had him pouting up at the redhead on the other side of the door before his face split into a broad smile. “Blaine!” One hug of brotherly affection later and the two were heading downstairs together.

“Father said you’re in an accelerated program now?” The blonde beamed. “I challenged the exam for the first year course.” The redhead’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “See? Always knew you were the brains of the family.” With a half smirk he ruffled the blonde’s hair, who protested and swatted his hand away.

They continued walking in silence until they reached the dining room. “Good morning mum.” Giving the woman a kiss on the cheek he sat down beside her. Pulling out a chair on the opposite side of the table his brother sat down hesitantly. “Will father be joining us?” The blonde woman smiled and the man relaxed. “He should be down in a minute.” Lately their mother’s mental health had taken a turn for the worse. He wondered if she’d said something odd to his brother. It would explain why he’d hesitated to sit down. “How are my two wonderful boys?” Her voice was sweet and filled to bursting with love and pride. His brother’s face flushed and he looked embarrassed. Droy chuckled. “Just fine, mum. I’m going to Dr. Samuel’s clinic after school. There are some new kittens that need looking after and a black lab that came in with a nasty cut. He seems lonely without his owner around.” She pet his hair gently. “Such a kind boy I’ve raised.” Then she turned to Blaine.

“Oh, well, I’m just back for today. I have some work to do at the nearby base and Father pulled some strings so I could visit.” It was rare that their father, Brigadier Ackland, would use his authority in that way. If anything their Father was even harder on Blaine than anyone else. He wanted his eldest son to work hard and earn everything the hard way. The man was not a fan of nepotism and actively looked down on anyone who got their post due to a family connection. “Maybe you can help me in the garden today. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Blaine smiled. “Of course mum.”

“Good morning.” Standing up immediately his brother gave a perfect salute, which had their mother sighing in exasperation. “Good morning, Sir.” The man who entered the room was wearing a well tailored suit, clean-shaven, with short cropped dark brown hair, and deep blue eyes. The lines on his face made him look stern but his eyes were filled with pride and a subtle kindness. “At ease, son. There’s no need for that at the table.” His brother gave him a cheeky smile before plopping back in his seat. Droy couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face, though he tried to hide it. “Honestly, you two.” His mother huffed.

As they were served breakfast and began to eat Blaine and their father began talking about the antics of the new recruits or the effectiveness of that new gun. Eventually they would get to talking about hand to hand techniques again. While this made his mother shake her head and practically roll her eyes, Droy found it interesting to hear them talk, though he didn’t understand half of what they said.

Finished with breakfast he gathered his school things and said his good-byes for the day. “I’ll see you around Christmas.” His brother said, ruffling his hair again.

Opening the door his mother stopped him, her eyes going unfocused as she embraced him like she would never see him again. “I’ll miss you dearly. But you have important work to do. Just know that I love you and will always be proud of you.” Confused he patter her on the back, giving her a warm hug in return. “I know mum. I love you too. I’ll see you when I get home.”

When he shut the door that morning he felt a chill run down his spine. Shaking off the sense of foreboding he hopped in the car waiting for him and took one last look at the estate.

[POV Torvus]

It had been three whole days since the boy had fallen unconscious. The men who had witnessed the miracles he performed were on edge. Though nothing had changed in the soldiers demeanors there was a nervous energy permeating the air. Early the third morning after the boy fell into a deep sleep the camp surgeon submitted his report to the colonel and commissar in a closed meeting.

“Honestly, I’m a little baffled.” The man’s face looked torn between confusion and concern. “There’s nothing wrong with him. His DNA is so perfectly normal it’s uncanny.” The man tapped the data slate and handed it over to the colonel who began to skim through the report. “I’d say he’s more human than some of the men in the regiment. Which brings up the fact that he shouldn’t have wings.” This got him a raised brow from the commissar and he swallowed nervously. “What do you mean by shouldn’t?” His shoulders twitched as if he’d aborted a shrug. “There’s no genetic mutation that would cause the wings present in his DNA. They shouldn’t be there. I even pulled a feather to test it. I mean, it felt real enough but it could just be some weird Psyker ability. ” It was clear the man wasn’t very familiar with Psykers. The colonel’s frown deepened. “This says he’s in some sort of hibernation?” The man nodded. “His breathing, heart-rate, blood pressure, and metabolism have all slowed to a crawl. It’s like his body shut down to protect him from something. But I can’t find any sign of corruption or illness.”

Taking the data slate when Ravun offered it to him Commissar Torvus skimmed through the report. The boy was at least eighteen years of age, a shock considering his height, slight form, and young features. It didn’t look as if he’d ever been subject to any kind of surgery or alteration. Peak health, except for the long shallow cut to his back when he’d been struck from behind with something sharp. Presumably the claw of the daemonette that attacked him. “You’re right, this is uncanny.” Torvus’ eyes narrowed at the man, as if trying to detect any deception. He froze, eyes wide and sweat rolling down the side of his face.

“I’d like-” Before Torvus could finish his sentence someone was asking for entrance from outside. Colonel Ravun left the room to deal with whoever was foolish enough to disturb their meeting. Only to come back in, practically jogging. “He’s awake.”

That was all it took for the meeting to close. With the surgeon in tow they made their way to the medical tent. The major was already there, ordering onlookers back to their tasks. The moment Torvus came into view the men fled. Save for two. The sergeant from 6th company and his corporal. Although they stiffened and gave a proper salute it didn’t seem as if they would be running away like the others. The colonel would have reprimanded them if there wasn’t a more pressing matter at hand.

Entering the medical tent they found a medic practically pleading with the boy to stay seated, hands on his shoulders to keep him down. “I insist you stay here. Captain Miller will be back in a moment, you can ask him your questions then.” A long sigh left the teen but he stopped struggling.

Coming inside the medic noticed them and immediately backed away, saluting as he did so. Clear blue eyes looked at the man curiously before quickly turning toward them. Commissar Torvus had never felt more inadequate than the moment their eyes met. His feet almost faltered as he stepped closer to inspect the boy. Quickly he slid off the table and stood upright, giving a decent salute for a civilian. The thought that he might have been mocking them didn’t even cross his mind as he drew closer.

“Good morning.” The teen smiled at him. “Good morning… er…” After a moment he frowned. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what rank to address you as. I’ve never seen your insignia before.” This told the commissar two things. One, the boy had either been raised near, or learned from, imperial guardsmen. And two, he had never seen imperial guardsmen or a commissar in his life. This contradicted itself in a spectacular way, making Torvus mildly annoyed. “I am Commissar Tovrus, assigned to the 37th Meridian Infantry. Now who are you?” Though his words were harsh the boy didn’t seem offended or cowed by them. Another anomaly. “I’m terribly sorry, Commissar. My name is Droy Ackland.” The name itself didn’t mean anything. But his lack of hesitation told him it was either his real name or a well crafted lie. Almost as an afterthought the boy hesitantly added, “younger son of Brigadier Lawrence Ackland.” No one in the room seemed to recognize the name and the boy’s shoulders drooped. 

Clearing his throat Torvus continued. “What system did you come from? Are you local?” If he was from the surrounding area they might be able to find out more from the few civilians that had been saved. 

“System? No, I’m not from around here. I have no idea how I ended up here. All I remember is heading home from the clinic. The next thing I know I’m waking up in a ruined building.” This was getting them nowhere. “What planet are you from?” Blue eyes met his and he could practically feel the confusion coming off the teen. “Terra.”

Silence filled the room. No one knew what to say in response to this. The boy didn’t seem to notice the silence as he looked around the medical tent. “Do you happen to have a vox-caster I can use to contact home?” The sheer ludicrousness of that statement made the colonel splutter behind him. Torvus understood the sentiment. “Do you know how far from Terra we currently are?” The blonde shook his head. “We are currently in Aurelia, Sub-sector of Korianis in the Segmentum Ultima.” The boy frowned. “I’ve never heard of any of those places.” His voice sounded tight and his wings shifted, feathers puffing up in agitation.

Behind him someone scoffed, most likely the surgeon. Colonel Ravun looked about as grim as he did at this revelation. How could the teen know of Holy Terra, the very cradle of man, yet not know about the Segmentum? This brought up all kinds of red flags. Torvus was momentarily stunned by how ridiculous this situation had gotten. “A moment, Commissar?” Turning to Ravun he raised a brow at him but the man seemed to have an idea. Only their long-standing friendship kept him from reprimanding the man.

Walking just outside they spoke in hushed whispers. “I want to let Psyker Hughes take a look at him.” The man in question was a theta level telekine that had been assigned to the regiment. Although he was generally a very depressing individual to be around his powers were invaluable. “If the boy’s mind has been effected in some manner he would be able to tell.” Torvus took a moment to think about the idea. If the boy were suffering some kind of mental disconnect the telekine would be able to piece together the truth. But if he was being corrupted by chaos it might very well kill their only Psyker. His mouth drew into a thin line and he assented to the idea. The pros outweighed the cons at this moment in time.

Coincidentally it seemed they were in luck. Junior Commissar Froederick, who had been assigned to watch the regiment’s only Psyker, had returned from the front to switch places with his fellow junior commissar. Sending a runner to fetch the both of them the commanding officers waited outside the tent.

[POV Hughes]

Trudging alongside the junior commissar, who was eying everyone around him balefully, the young Psyker named Hughes sighed. Emotions were high in the camp and there was a strange buzz in the air. Every once in a while the flash of a faint psychic residue would catch his eye, making him do a double take, which only made the junior commissar even twitchier. Considering his thoughts were focused on his agitation it did not fill Hughes with anything remotely good. Luckily his thoughts were slowly shifting toward food and a nice, long, nap. 

Turning toward the runner before the man even made it to them he walked toward the man calmly. “And where are you going?” Snapped Froederick. “The colonel is asking for me.” He sighed. He’d been hoping to go find a quiet place to sit away from the strain of thousands of thoughts not his own but it seemed like an urgent request. “R-right. Colonel Ravun and Commissar Torvus are requesting your presence.” It was most certainly not a request.

Before Froederick could ask him where they were headed Hughes answered. “The medical tent. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” Froederick scoffed. He was most certainly coming along. Commissar Torvus had put him on Psyker duty, he wouldn’t dare slack off.

When they arrived at the medical tent and presented themselves to the commanders Hughes could tell something was off. The air held a faint shimmer that distracted him so much he almost forgot to salute. “There’s someone we’d like you to examine for any mental damage or deception.” Though he needn’t bothered speaking out loud, his thoughts were clear enough, Hughes knew why he did so. Entering the tent with the commanders he felt a fluttering in his stomach and nearly tripped due to his distraction. Standing in the tent was a blonde teen who just exuded a feeling of warmth. It was like being plunged into a warm bath after being outside in the cold for far too long. Beside him Froederick was giving off waves of confusion while the commanders were tensely waiting. Nearing the teen just made his aura shine all the brighter, like a golden halo of light surrounding him.

He could sense the teen’s confusion but it was tempered by a naive innocence that was markedly out of place in the imperial guard. Placing a hand on the teen’s shoulder he reached into the warp to call upon his abilities and was stunned by what he found. A beloved child to a caring mother. The younger brother to a man he thought the world of. The only son of a man he wanted to make proud. A student of medical sciences who focused on animals because his family was afraid his powers would be too obvious, and call too much attention. He was lost, worried about the men he had healed, scared of the daemons but filled with righteous fury at their existence. And strangest of all; he was a powerful Psyker the likes of which Hughes had never seen before. All around him the warp was ordered and almost peaceful in comparison. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. The feeling was nigh intoxicating.

Apparently his outward appearance must have shown the shock on his face as both the commissar and the colonel reached for their weapons. In a nearly breathless whisper he asked; “what are you?” The boy flinched, confusion and hurt coloring his thoughts.

Pulled forcefully away from the teen, who was giving off a kind worry that nearly made Hughes sob, he could finally feel the emotions of everyone else in the room again. They were grim, dark, and foreboding. Like a deep, damp, ravine. Worry, anger, confusion, and the words ‘What The Fuck Just Happened’ practically screamed at him from their minds.

“Can you hear me? Answer me, Hughes!” The colonel’s voice brought him out of his near-trance as he finally put both of his feet beneath him. How he’d ended up being half carried by the nearby medic he had no idea. “Yes, Colonel. I can hear you.” The lack of gibbering, speaking in tongues, or other craziness that came before a demonic possession, calmed the men considerably. “Are you alright?” The quiet question was almost lost in the midst of the chaos but Hughes heard it nonetheless. A smile crossed his face as he glanced over at the blonde. “I’m fine. Better than fine.” He felt a hope in his breast he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was refreshing, to say the least.

“Then report, soldier.” The commissar barked at him, wanting answers. “His name is Droy Kristien Ackland, male, eighteen years old, a citizen of Great Britian on Terra. His father is a prominent military man, mother is possibly an untrained Diviner, and his older brother, adopted, is some sort of Pyromancer.” Droy gaped at him in awe and he ducked his head so he didn’t have to look directly at the shining aura. “He’s from the year… 18.M3.” The resounding feeling of denial this brought to everyone’s mind was enough to make him dizzy. Some even questioned the validity of his statement and wondered if the teen had addled his mind somehow. “He couldn’t even if he wanted to.” He answered the unspoken question.

“Explain.” Shaking his head a little so he could focus he turned to look back at the teen. “He’s too focused on helping others to be malicious. Even now he’s worried that he hurt me somehow. He isn’t some warp monster or deamonhost. He’s a human born on Holy Terra a very, very, long time ago.” At this revelation he could hear the internal panic of the colonel and all of the implications running through the commissar’s mind. Now that he was getting used to the strange shift from chaotic to ordered warp he actually found the teen’s presence quite enjoyable. It was much better than being around the junior commissar, that was for sure.

“Are you positive he is not tainted by the forces of chaos?” He shook his head no. “He is actively repelling them. Like an anti-daemon ward.” Admiration colored his voice and the teen blushed faintly even as he gave off waves of uncertainty. 

“Excuse me?” Everyone turned to look at the blonde, who was becoming more agitated. “What is 18.M3?” Oops. The world he came from didn’t have that dating system yet. “It is the year two-thousand and eighteen.” The words made sense to the teen but it didn’t seem he truly understood why this was strange. “So… it’s still twenty-eighteen, right?” Hughes flinched. This would not end well.

[POV Droy]

The room was quiet again, too quiet. All around him were men in a mishmash of military gear and uniforms, carrying strange weapons he’d never seen before. Sure this could just mean he’d somehow ended up on the other side of the world in the middle of a war but somehow he didn’t think that was right. The man nearby, who spat out all his information after touching him, was practically beaming at him. Like the sun had finally come into his life for the first time ever. It was really awkward to be stared at like that. The commissar he had been talking to looked grim but the man just behind him looked stumped. Off to his right he was being glared at by a younger commissar who was tapping the side of his gun holster. Out of them all he made Droy feel the most uneasy.

“I’m afraid that the year is no longer… twenty-eighteen.” The commissar spoke woodenly, eyes boring holes into him. Wings drooping he crossed his arms, trying to steel himself. How long had he been away from home? Was there a way back? Was his family still okay? “Wh-what year is it? If I may ask…” 

The commissar let out a sigh. “The year is 23.M41.” Frowning he looked down at his shoes for a moment. If M3 was the year two-thousand then… Trembling he raised wide blue eyes to the commissar. “em-M41?” The man gave him a curt nod.

Falling to his knees he hit the ground hard. It was as if all the strength had left him at once. The year was 40,023. His mouth went dry and the world swam as he tried to come to grips with the fact that he was millennia away from his family and home. He was more than thirty-eight Thousand years into the future. “Th-that’s impossible…” His voice was weak, even to his own ears. No. It had to be some kind of lie or trick. There was no way he had been swallowed up and just chucked out that many millennia into the future! “You’re lying.” Getting his feet under him he clenched his fists and glared at the commissar, trying to keep himself from having a full blown panic attack.

Everyone looked at him as if he were insane as he stood there defying a commissar. From his understanding of history a commissar was a military or political position in the old Russian army. But their guns were too strange for him to have traveled backwards in time. Droy would know, his father was a gun collector. He was getting a headache. This was way too confusing and unbelievable. “You need to calm down, son, you’ll open the wound on your back.” 

Turning to the man who was probably the head doctor of the camp he deflated a little. The man looked worried for his wellbeing and his tone had been soft, like he was talking to a scared animal. He could feel the stinging in his back and knew the man was right. But the panic he was feeling just wouldn’t go away. It bounced around inside him as his thoughts spiraled out of control.

What would happen to his family? When they noticed he was missing they were going to freak out. Did they spend the rest of their lives trying to figure out what happened to him? What about his mother? Some days he was the only thing that kept her calm and focused. Blaine would blame himself, he always did when something went wrong in the family. And his father… the man had a great capacity to love, though he hid it well. What would losing his younger son do to him? The world spun.

“He’s going to faint!” It was the last thing he heard before he fell unconscious for the second time that week.


	3. Fire and Silver 1 [Side Story]

Lieutenant Blaine Thomas Ackland, lovingly called Lieutenant Blaze by his men for his almost pyromaniac tendencies, stared down at the paper in his hands as he strode down the long hall. On the way men would move out of his way, stop, and salute. He was a fairly popular officer and had earned the respect of the men under his command. Each time he would look up from his paper and give a polite nod in return, acknowledging those he passed. Running a hand through messy red-blonde hair he re-read the last line of the missive and frowned darkly. Droy, his younger brother, had gone missing two days ago and he'd only just now received word. A tight knot of worry had wound it's way through his chest and he felt as though a heavy weight was bearing down on him. The police had been informed but it seemed they thought the teen had just run away. Their father had not been happy to hear that. He could just hear it now, the man yelling at them in a barely contained battlefield voice that his son was not that kind of man.

To be honest if he and his brother hadn't been caught pulling pranks and doing stupid kid stuff he might have thought the little blonde could do no wrong. He was what the kids had called a 'goody-two-shoes' back in primary school. But Blaine knew him. Droy would never worry their parents, or him. Especially not with their mother slowly getting worse. He cared about other people. Sometimes too much. He'd even forgiven his bullies for the many hurts they'd caused and stood between them and other kids before. It usually ended up with him having to be rescued because he didn't want to fight anyone in case he hurt them by mistake. That kind of person didn't just vanish because he was 'under pressure by his family and school.'

So what had happened? Had the Mutation Retention Bureau gotten their hands on him? They were a sneaky bunch of bastards but they were supposed to be the good guys. Letting people like Blaine continued on as a soldier but keeping dangerous ab-humans locked up for public safety. Hell, he'd helped them bag a serial killer who could control shadows like they were an extension of himself. Droy though, he was a healer. They'd have no real reason to take him.

So focused on his inner thoughts he failed to notice the danger immediately. Beneath his feet a strange black circle appeared on the floor. A sudden tug and it felt as if his navel had dropped through his feet as he was inexplicably unable to move. Looking down in horror he found a gaping black hole had opened underneath him and long black tendrils slowly climbing up his body. With a cry of surprise he reached for his pistol but a long rope of the black substance whipped around his arm, clasping onto him painfully. Young men and women rounded the corner, eyes wide and weapons in hand as they watched one of their lieutenants being dragged into the black mass. Yelling orders at them to shoot the black protrusions he could see the sheer terror on their faces and knew he was doomed. None of them had ever handled the supernatural or paranormal like he had. If only he could reach his own firearm he might be able to escape but it was pinned between his body and more of the black goop. As it began to cover his face he continued to struggle and yell. A hellish cold burning into his skin as he was pulled down deeper and deeper. Then everything went black.

After what felt like forever in an instant his world seemed to snap back into perfect clarity and he stumbled on weakened legs. Strange chanting reached his ears as the last of the tar-like substance retreated and left him standing in the center of some bizarre arcane looking circle. At first his mind was too disoriented to make out what was around him, his body still trembling from the oddness of his sudden abduction. With mounting horror and disgust he began to make out the corpses of people strung up around him, much like a pig at the local butchers. They had been cut open from sternum to pelvis and their intestines were used to carefully form the outer ring of the circle he was now standing in the center of. The wetness of the red lines suggested they were written in blood. The smell of iron, acrid smoke, burning hair, and offal made him choke and gag. The chanting stopped abruptly as he began to cough, one hand going to his mouth to hold back the bile that rose in the back of his throat. God, he was going to be sick.

The crazed looking murder cult began to murmur amongst themselves. Eyes watering he looked up at them as they rose from their places in the darkened room, panic starting to build in his chest. If they'd murdered all these people and staged them like this he had no doubt they would dispose of him in a similar fashion. One of them pointed to something on the floor and shrieked in an ungodly way that made the hair of his arms and back of the neck stand on end. The others began to squabble amongst themselves before they finally turned their focus on him. Reaching for jagged knives they threw themselves at him with horrible screams of rage. Pulling out his pistol he shot the first one in the head, not taking any chances. Seeing another at the corner of his eye he pulled out his trusty ka-bar. It was a gift from his father upon his graduation of military school. It had seen him through a lot of bad situations. Jamming it into the eye of an enemy that had literally thrown themselves at him he twisted before ducking the swing of a nasty looking… halberd? Christ, he was in the pit now.

After killing at least thirteen of them with his pistol he was beginning to run out of ammo. The glock only had seventeen rounds of nine-millimeter ammo and he only had one spare magazine. There were at least a hundred of these crazed murderers, definitely not enough to go around. Breaking kneecaps and wrists didn't seem to stop these guys either as they threw themselves at him again and again, only going down if he shot them in the head, broke their neck, or severed a major artery. Sweat poured down his back as he fought for his life, wishing there was a significant source of fire that he could exploit. 'Aw hell.' He thought to himself. 'Time to bring out my secret weapon.'

It took a moment to get the gland working but once stimulated his mouth began to fill with fluid, stickier and thicker than saliva. Spitting it into the face of an assailant it took a moment before it began to burn, eating at the fanatic's skin. He'd taken great pains to keep his peculiarities a secret from the world, with the exception of the MRB. But in a situation like this it was kill or be killed. He had no intention of laying down and dying. Spying a still burning candle he dodged behind it and spat the fluid through the flame. The liquid caught fire and covered another lunatic, who began to stagger around screaming.

Someone grabbed him from behind, intent on dragging him to the ground. Slamming his elbow into their face he slipped from the man's grasp and slashed his neck with the knife. Warm blood splashed across his front as the sounds of something crashing through wood reached his ears. 'Bloody hell, don't tell me there are more of these freaks?' Turning franticly toward the new noise he spied men in military green and felt a surge of hope. Another murder cultist leapt at him, hoping to catch him off guard. Bringing the muzzle of his pistol up he sighted the enemy as they reached the apex of their leap and fired one shot between the eyes. Glancing back at the almost surprised faces of the military guys he yelled back at them; "well don't just bloody stand there!" Apparently one of them had heard him as they brought out some sort of weapon and aimed it toward the crazed cultists. Suddenly fire bloomed from the end of it and Blaine grinned. Finally, something was going right!

Diving over a cultist he rolled across the ground and came up closer to the soldier manning the flamethrower. "Pardon me, gents." He said, bringing up his hand. It took little concentration and effort to commandeer the fire and turn it on the cultists. Where the flamethrower could only spew fire in a straight line he used all those beautiful flames to swirl around the room in a deadly tornado of pain and death. The light glinted off his red-blonde hair and deep orange eyes as the screaming finally began to die down. Putting his hand down he realized he had used his… ability, for lack of a better term, in front of others. Gripping his pistol tight in one hand he turned to look at the operator of the strange flamethrower, who wasn't looking at him half as oddly as he ought to be.

A man in a striking uniform, something between a gothic priest and a medieval knight, stalked forward as the rank and file moved out of his way. Speaking at him in a calm yet professional tone the man motioned at him to lower his weapon. But the words were unintelligible. Soldiers swept past him and began checking the bodies to ensure they were all dead, while Blaine stood there in confusion. With the adrenaline beginning to wear off the sickness and panic from before rose up from his twisted guts. His fist clenched around the gun in his hand as he tried to stay standing and not vomit all over the floor. Seeing how distressed he was the man seemed to focus on him harder than before, his eyes striking and cold as they began to glow. A moment later the man's eyes went wide in confusion. He said something again but it was clear Blaine didn't understand a word of it. He pursed his lips and spoke to a couple of men in equally odd, gothic, clothes. If it wasn't for the fact that they were torching the crazy cultists and had men in military clothing accompanying them he probably would have assumed they were part of the satanic death cult he'd been kidnapped by.

"Look," he said, stalling the man as he was talking to what were probably his lieutenants, "I don't know how I got here. I'm glad you saved my arse but who the bloody hell are you?" His tone was quite a bit more frustrated than he had intended but there wasn't much he could do about that. He was soaked with sweat, exhausted, disoriented, and covered in gore with a smattering of ash. All he wanted right now was a shower and a nap.

For whatever reason the men looked at him blankly, as if they were wholly unimpressed, before they began talking to each other again in hushed tones. With a sigh he tended to his weapons. Might as well make sure they were in good working order while the strangers figured out what they were going to do with him. Besides, it was better than thinking about the horror he'd just witnessed. When he was satisfied that his gun and knife were fine he put them both away. It seemed like the men had come to some sort of agreement on something. Coming forward one of them spoke at him slowly. He listened carefully and was able to make out certain patterns of words. Wait… was that Latin? Weird, but lucky. He'd taken a few years of Latin back in the Academy, it was a bit of a side interest to him.

"Sequi mihi. Non veniam ad te nocere. Salvus eris." Something about following and maybe safety? Or possibly salvation. So they were offering to help him, then. A long sigh left him and he nodded tiredly. "Tu… me.. sequere?" He said, almost as a question. Honestly it had been a few years since he'd had to actively speak Latin. The men looked slightly taken aback but didn't turn hostile. Taking a few steps, intent on following the gothic knight-priests he suddenly felt a wave of nausea hit him. His vision blurred horribly and the ground seemed to come up to meet him suddenly. Guess he had only been delaying the inevitable.

[POV Argenti]

As Inquisitor Argenti Vesalius of the Ordos Malleus watched in confused fascination the man who had been fighting the heretical deamon cult alone suddenly pitched sideways as his legs fell out from under him. Surprised by this one of the planet's soldiers reached out and caught him before he could slam into the floor in a dead faint. Perhaps whatever power he had used to force the flames to his will had caught up to him, or he may have been exhausted from the fight. It made little to no sense that a 'normal' man would choose to take on an entire cult by himself, especially as ill equipped as he was. The bright orange eyes and red-blonde hair were not enough to condemn the man as something unnatural but he was far from normal. "What has you so on edge, Inquisitor Vesalius?" Asked one his men, dipping his head in a sign of respect as he spoke. The man looked down at the former soldier coolly. "Do any of the PDFs recognize this man?" Glancing over at the stranger the looked thoughtful for a moment before slinking off. When he returned it was with the leader of the Planetary Defense Forces. "I know every man in the militia, and I've never seen him before in my life." He looked nervous, as he should. The Inquisition was not an organization to be taken lightly. There was something else he wasn't saying, Argenti could sense it at the forefront of his mind. But he delved no deeper. All he wanted at the moment was to ensure the soldier was not lying and finish burning this filthy place to the ground.

"What shall we do with him?" Turning to glance at his sole female acolyte, Lyesha, Argenti thought deeply on her question. "Take him with us. He has some peculiarities that need further investigating." The raven haired acolyte nodded in acquiescence. "You there, come with me." She motioned toward the soldier holding the stranger and the man quickly raced to catch up with her as she turned on her heel and walked back the way she'd come.

Argenti observed the scene for a few moments longer, still floored by what he had seen. The man had controlled the flames as if he were a Pyromantik Psyker. On top of that when he had tried to perceive the man's presence he found a gaping void of nothingness. The man was some sort of blank. This seemed impossible but he had witnessed it with his own eyes. Leaving some of his retinue behind to deal with the clean-up he returned to the Incendi Noctium, intent on unraveling this mystery.


	4. Chapter 3

Once they’d laid the boy up in a bed and the captain had given him something to calm him down Torvus stood there mulling over all of the information they’d learned so far. Nearby Hughes was talking with the colonel. He expressed his adamant belief that the boy was not dangerous and asked if he could stick by him. Apparently he made the ‘bad thoughts’ go away. The way the man was talking about the blonde made him seem like a child who wanted a teddy bear to keep the nightmares away. It was so close to the devotion that the sisters hospitaller had shown that it made him uncomfortable. Not because he thought it to be a trick, but because he was beginning to believe it was true. The boy might very well be a Saint. Had he been pulled from his own time by the Emperor himself to aid them in their time of need? Surely he would have chosen someone with more experience.

Coming out from the tent they’d moved the teen to the captain shook his head in exasperation. “He’s calmed down for now. I tried to get more out of him but he just keeps muttering things about his family. Must be in shock.” The captain looked mildly disturbed, Torvus understood the sentiment. Being soldiers their entire lives it was rare they interacted with completely unrelated civilians. While the man knew how to calm and treat wounded soldiers the teen, according to their Psyker, had never been in a real battle before. The world the man painted was one where war was waged between humans with different ideologies, on the surface of Terra. Rather than the ruinous forces of chaos. They had yet to even colonize Mars.

“What about his injury? Has it suddenly healed miraculously?” The captain shook his head. “No, it’s still there. Although it is surprisingly infection free.” Which was surprising. Daemonettes were not known to be clean creatures. All daemons carried some kind of taint after all. “I’ll sick a medic on him to keep an eye out.” Torvus nodded and the man gave him a salute before hurrying off to see to other patients.

Finished laying down the law with the Psyker colonel Ravun walked in his direction. “I will be sending a report to the general. If you need anything, anything at all, let the major know.” While it was standard routine to seek out the major while the colonel was otherwise occupied the statement was a courtesy between old comrades. Torvus walked out of the tent with him. “Thank you, colonel.” Ravun then stopped. In fact he stopped so suddenly that Torvus almost left him behind, he’d taken a few steps before turning around; his brow raised.

“Sargeant Janus, I’m assigning your squad to guard duty. The young man seems to be having a hard time adjusting at the moment. Ensure Psyker Hughes does not get in the way of the captain or his medics.” It appeared that the sergeant and his corporal had followed the stretcher bound teen to his new location.

The men gave the colonel a sharp salute. Leaving them with a nod the man caught up with Torvus. “Never give an order that won’t be obeyed.” Torvus huffed, amused. The man shot back, “well I’m not the commissar here.” Torvus chuckled and the two split up. One to write a report and the other to make a couple of important vox calls.

[POV Sarge]

It had been two days of guard duty standing outside the tent where the young man was recovering from what sergeant Janus now knew was a nasty bout of shock. The way Hughes babbled in the moments he tried to gain access to the teen painted a very interesting picture. Born on Terra in M3 he had never experienced war first hand and in fact there were no such things as Daemons, Chaos Gods, or filthy Xenos to fight. Man fought man over foolish ideology, which had nothing to do with the God Emperor of mankind. It seemed like the man had gone off the deep end but the medic who came by twice a day to check the kid’s condition said it was all true. If that was the case then Janus had one question- where had the kid learned to fight with a sword?

Sure he should be more offended that the kid didn’t know about the God Emperor. But honestly? He’d been on enough worlds where the citizens lacked a decent education. The kid would learn soon enough. If they didn’t get a chance to explain it to him he was sure that one of the higher ups would. Speaking of higher ups, the medic told them that the kid had stood nearly toe to toe with the commissar. Janus would have admitted that was ballsy as fuck, seeing as a commissar could very well shoot you for insubordination and face no penalties. But if the kid had no clue about the God Emperor he probably didn’t know about commissars either. It was a good thing they’d been put on duty as his guards. There were quite a few curious glances from their fellows but one look at his stern face or Duncan’s bulk had them backing off. Or it could have been the lasguns. Probably.

Glancing toward the big guy Janus wondered what to do with him. When it came time to switch shifts it took a direct order for him to leave the tent. The man was devoted to the kid who had saved his life. It was the same with the private. He was sure that if he’d been that close to death then healed back to peak health he’d be just as devoted. He just hoped that it didn’t come off as full blown worship of they’d all be in a heap of trouble.

The sound of a heavy aircraft coming down had him shielding his eyes with his hand and looking to the sky. The craft was not one he recognized but it appeared they were expected, if the small crowd of medics was any indication. The medic that had been checking on the kid came out of the tent and gawked for a moment. “Incoming wounded?” The sarge suggested. The man’s lips pursed and he quickly ran off to the main medical tent, probably to help get things in order.

“He’ll do something about them.” Turning to the corporal with look of mild confusion the man motioned toward the tent behind them. “I’m not even sure he realizes anything exists outside that tent right now.” Duncan went silent, face just barely revealing the unrest he must be feeling. After a moment he seemed to straighten. “Nah, Sarge. He’ll heal them too.” The conviction in his voice was at odds with the usually quiet, passive, man. “We’ll see, corporal. We’ll see.”

[POV Droy]

Sitting alone in the darkened tent, laying on his side and curled in on himself, the blonde teen stared at the wall. With eyes that had dulled to a storm-cloud gray he barely moved or even blinked. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in the tent, or even how many meals he’d eaten. He was sure he had but he couldn’t remember. Even with the thick blanket over his shoulders he felt cold and numb. Ripped from his home he was now cut off from everything he knew and loved. Mum and dad, his brother, and the home where he’d been born and raised. What was mother going to do without him there to calm her down after she’d had one of her fits? How would he remind Blaine that even if they weren’t blood they were still brothers, and that no matter what their parents loved him. And father… He knew the man loved both of them. He’d adopted Blaine when they thought his mum couldn’t have kids. But he was a much wanted surprise. Blaine was his legacy, the man who followed in his footsteps and had already become an officer at a young age. Droy was his heart. Their father was a kind man, even if he seemed brusque and stern. Droy, being sickly and weak as a child, had let him be the kind man he truly was.

It wasn’t vanity to think that he was the light in their household. They each had their own problems. So what would they do now without him? Blaine would feel as though he didn’t belong. Their mother’s condition would get worse. And their father wouldn’t know how to talk to people normally. Then there was him… Alone he was nothing. His entire identity revolved around his family and the work he did at the clinic. Mother used to call him their Guardian Angel. He wasn’t stupid enough to think they would stop being a family or break apart just because he wasn’t there, he hadn’t been born yet when Blaine was made part of the family after all. But his absence was sure to cause a lot of problems.

If only he had his phone. Then at least he would have the pictures of his family to look at. And the messages his mother had sent… He blinked. His mother had written in some strange form of Latin and had added a group of strange letters and numbers. Feathers began to rise as a shiver ran through him. Some of the gibberish was beginning to make sense now. 23M41. She had named the year he had been thrown into. Father said she was a Seer and caught glimpses of the future. But it had always been within a week or two, never more than a year into the future.

Closing his eyes he thought about the words on the screen that had accompanied the numbers. ‘Angelus nati sunt cogitationis et orationis.Bona cuncta posce vitam humani generis obscura futurum.’ While he couldn’t understand the written word of other languages, his abilities didn’t cover anything penned down, the text had been in English letters. All he needed to do was read them out from his mind and they would translate to English for him. Wetting his lips he focused on the memory as hard as he could. “Angel born of… thought… and prayer. Bring… light? To humans… humanity’s d-dark… future.” His eyes snapped open and jaw went slack. Had his mother predicted this? What did she mean by ‘born of thought and prayer?’

Unable to comprehend the meaning behind the words he was pulled out of his thoughts by shouting and the sounds of many feet. Worry gripped him. Were they being attacked? Did they need someone to help? Would he even be able to help them fight? He hated guns and only knew how to use one because his father and brother practically forced him to learn, for his own protection they’d said. He had his sword but it didn’t hurt humans, only unclean things like devils or spirits. He wasn’t sure they even had swords here in the future.

“I’LL KILL THEM ALL! HERETICS! LET ME DOWN OFF THIS STRETCHER!” Bolting upright from his cot he turned to the opening of the tent, eyes wide. He could hear shuffling outside and saw someone pass in front of the lone beam of light that entered. Gingerly he slid off the cot and silently made his way to the front of the tent. Opening the flap a little he winced at the bright light but peered outside. Standing on either side of his door were two soldiers. Actually they were men he sort of recognized.

“Damn, what the hell happened to the Confessor?” The larger of the two asked. “Hell if I know. But his leg looked like it was only attached by a few threads.” Oh. They weren’t being attacked. But it sounded like there was incoming wounded. Nibbling on his lip he felt that compulsion, the tug in his core that made his hands itch with the need to heal others. But was he even allowed to leave?

He cleared his throat and flinched when two sets of eyes immediately whipped toward him. “Excuse me… but… is everything okay? Is… is someone hurt?” The larger man turned to the brunette and smirked. But the brunette kept his eyes on Droy. “Some wounded were just brought in.” The answer was straightforward enough. Droy swallowed the nervousness and tried not to shrink under the intense gaze of the soldier. “C-can I help?” A sigh left the brunette as the other soldier’s grin widened. “We’re your escorts. We’re not allowed to leave you alone.” Droy’s shoulders drooped in defeat and he rubbed at one arm. “But that doesn’t mean you’re restricted to the tent. You can go most places in camp, as long as we go with you.”

Droy brightened and gave the man a smile. “Oh, awesome! Then I’m going to the tent with the injured… um. Can you show me where that is?” The man snorted, it sounded like he’d tried to hold in a laugh but failed. “Yeah, c’mon kid.”

Trying to keep up with the two men who had a wider stride he took a moment to look around. The place was certainly some kind of operating base in the midst of a war zone. Everyone carried guns and looked to be on guard. Though anyone who managed to catch his eye just stared at him as if he was an alien. Looking down at the ground he wondered if they were suspicious of him. Shifting his wings he realized he hadn’t been able to hide them and he was hit with mild panic. He had done exactly what his father told him not to and now everyone could see his wings. How could he have just forgotten he wasn’t wearing his hoodie? Glancing up at the two in front of him he wondered if they, too, thought he was suspicious. Was that why they were guarding him? “Um…” The brunette looked back at him expectantly. “Do… do my wings um… make people uncomfortable? I-if I had a large shirt or jacket I could hide them.” The blank look he received worried him and he fidgeted with the bottom of his undershirt.

“You’re not making them uncomfortable, they’re just curious. They heard how you helped with triage at the outpost, and healed the guys everyone thought were going to die.” The larger man smiled at him, it was a crooked smile. “It was a miracle. We don’t get many of those in the Guard.” He smiled back, though he had no idea what the Guard was. Maybe it was the name of the army? Or even just a special forces unit. There wasn’t enough information to be certain.

Coming up to the medical tent they had to dodge a few medics running around and were stopped by an angry looking surgeon. At least Droy hoped he was a surgeon. “You can’t be in here! You’ll get in the way. Out.” The words were sharp and Droy hid behind the big guy. He usually hated confrontation. “Go on, kid. Show them what you’ve got.” The brunette said, not even paying attention to the angry surgeon. “R-right.”

Taking a deep breath he let it out then stepped out from behind the giant soldier. “Take me to the worst cases first.” The man spluttered. “You’re not-” His wings flared, just enough to make him seem bigger and more important. Much like a bird trying to intimidate a predator. “I am a healer. If you won’t show me then I’ll ask someone else.” He was agitated. He could hear the moaning and screaming of the men all around him and he hated it. It was like a black stone in the pit of his stomach. Luckily one of the medics who had seen to him before rushed over. “I’ll show you. But your guards have to stay outside.” The woman gave them a look and the men stiffened. “Alright, we’re going. Kid, you come straight out to us when you’re done unless someone higher up tells you otherwise.” Droy nodded.

[POV Confessor Artus] 

Spitting and grinding his teeth the man looked down at his mess of a leg and cursed the heretic scum that had ambushed them with warp-spawn. Most, if not all, of his army of the faithful had been shredded to pieces; like meat in a grinder. It was only by the blessing of the God Emperor that had allowed him to be taken off the field by the Imperial Guard in mostly one piece. He would have to be fitted with augmetics, which rankled him. He had been brought to the planet to whip the populace into a frenzy and smite the vile forces of chaos. But it was too late. Things were worse than they’d first thought. Luckily reinforcements were already en route.

“Confessor, you need to calm down.” The man practically popped a blood vessel. “IF YOU TELL ME TO BE CALM ONE MORE TIME!” He hollered, forcing the medic to back away. Even with all the pain medication he could still feel the phantom pain in his ruined leg. Slamming a hand down on the bed he grumbled to himself. This was not the way a Confessor should be acting. But he was filled with righteous fury that could not be abated.

“What are you doing in here?” Hearing the medic he turned and spied a near child with golden blonde hair and eyes a crystalline blue. Artus scowled and readied to give them a piece of his mind when the words caught in his throat. The child had turned to speak to one of the other medics and revealed pristine white wings nestled against his back. It was enough of a shock that the child was able to get closer and smile at him in a manner he could only call kind and serene. “Don’t worry, I’m here to help you.”

Before he could protest the child held out his hands over the mess that had once been his leg and began to emit a warm golden glow. “By the Emperor!” He whispered in awe. Beneath those hands he could feel a rush of warmth flood his veins as his very flesh began to grow and fuse back together. The boy’s eyes were nearly glowing, as though lit from within by a divine light. Speech flew out the window as the boy finally took a step back, the light fading, to reveal his leg; whole and sound. Bending the knee he watched, and felt, his muscles responding. Jumping off of the table he pulled back his sleeves and choked as he saw the burn scars he’d once had were also gone. “How do you feel?” The faint concern in the child’s voice brought him back to the here and now. “I feel marvelous!” He exclaimed. He received a relieved smile in return.

Stepping toward the boy he stared at him intensely for a moment. “What is your name, child?” The boy looked mildly disgruntled for a moment. “I’m Droy, Droy Ackland. And I’m eighteen.” The young man was small for his age, then. “I’m sorry, but I need to go help the other soldiers. We can talk later if you like.”

The confessor watched the young man hurry away, led by a medic. He was unsure how to feel about all of this.


	5. Fire and Silver 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I called this a 'side story' but it's actually part of the main plot and will eventually merge into one story.

Waking with a start, his heart racing in his chest, Blaine looked around the room he found himself in. There was a feeling of desperation. He wanted to escape… something. Grabbing his head he groaned. It felt like someone had tossed him down a bloody cliff. His limbs were stiff, body sore, throat scratchy, and head pounding. As everything came rushing back he reached for his weapons only to find them gone. “Bugger me!” He cursed aloud. At least he could feel the familiar weight of his dog tags beneath the white medical… tunic? Looked like he was wearing some sort of plain tunic with simple pants, like pajamas. Well at least he’d been washed and his wounds seen to. That was better than he had been expecting. Climbing out of the simple bed he slowly stood and surveyed the room. Either he was in some sort of jail cell or he was in a very sparse hospital room. The room looked sterile. Other than the bed there was no other furniture in sight. Painted on the wall across from him was a large symbol, one he had never seen or heard of before. It was a Roman numeral one with three horizontal lines coming off the middle and a white skull at its center. Although he didn’t understand its significance the symbol filled him with unease. After fighting with that satanic cult anything with a skull on it could not be good.

Testing his limbs to see how stiff and sore he was he winced a little when his left arm twinged. The shoulder had been dislocated once before so it had a tendency to become inflamed at times. There was no mirror to see what his face looked like but he was pretty sure he was pale and probably had a black eye or two. There were a few bruises on his arms where he’d blocked blows aimed for his head but they’d heal up in a couple of days.

A loud ka-chunk noise made him jump, turn around, and stand in a defensive position on reflex. A section of wall that he had not looked too closely at appeared to be in actuality a door. The man behind the door standing in the hall gave him a blank look before coming inside, two well armed men coming inside with them. Their guns were pointed at him and the man barked something in a language he didn’t understand. But he didn’t need to. He knew what they wanted. Holding his hands up and away from his body he remained standing, eyes shifting between the guns and the man giving the orders.

From outside came a strange grinding noise and his heart began beating faster inside his rib-cage. What came through the door was grotesque. It looked like some sort of machine they’d tried to make vaguely humanoid. It had long red robes, strange tendrils, an some sort of hunched back that sprouted spider-like appendages. There was even a floating skull chattering over its left shoulder, if he could call that a shoulder. Blaine shrank back in confusion and disgust. A sound like dial-up through a broken speaker came from the thing and his mouth fell open. “What the fuck!?” He blurted, unable to comprehend what the hell was happening. No one answered him as the floating skull came forward. Another strange burst of noise from the machine-man and the skull started speaking gibberish. Well, less speaking and more like a voice was coming from a speaker inside it. It spoke for a moment, stopped, then spoke in the same language again. When he didn’t respond it switched to a different language and repeated the procedure.

After some time the man who seemed to be the one in charge leaned against the wall, almost as if he was bored. Blaine wasn’t fooled. The guy looked lax but his body was tightly wound like a coiled spring. “Can you understand me?” He nearly jumped when the skull started speaking in German at him. What luck! He may have taken Latin as an elective but he was fluent in German. Wetting his lips he heard the skull repeat the question. “Yes, I can understand you.” The skull made a whirring-click sound and flew back to its… master? The man in charge had pushed himself off the wall, his eyes cold and calculating.

“What is your name?” The man asked, likewise speaking German. Blaine sighed in relief. Finally he could get some answers. “Blaine Thomas Ackland, Lieutenant of her Majesty’s armed forces, sir” The man blinked at him slowly, as if trying to detect a lie. “What were you doing with that cult?” Blaine grimaced, remembering the smell and sheer viciousness of the now very dead cultists. “They kidnapped me. I remember blacking out and when I woke up they were chanting. I guess something went wrong cause they suddenly turned on me after I woke up.” He couldn’t be sure these guys would believe him if he told them he’d been sucked through a pool of black goop and just appeared in the middle of the cult. It sounded entirely batshit.

“What regiment are you with?” Blaine blinked. Surely they’d had a look at his tags and already knew the answer. His expression darkened slightly. This sounded less like a debriefing and more like the beginning of an interrogation. “The 12th armored infantry brigade, Royal Lancers, sir.” The man’s eyes turned hard and Blaine felt a shudder of fear run down his spine. His captor turned to the weird humanoid machine and they spoke in that odd, not quite Latin, language. The machine made some strange noises before the skull flew down and paper started to come out of its mouth- like a demented version of a printer. Tearing off the paper the man read it through carefully, his expression giving nothing away.

“Would you repeat what regiment you said you were from?” The man asked without looking at him. “The 12th armored infantry brigade, Royal Lancers, sir.” Dark grey-blue eyes turned his way. “Remind me, what planetary defence force did you say you were from?” What planetary defence force? He had no clue what this guy was on about. “Sir? I’m not sure what you mean.” Handing the paper back to the machine the man strode forward until he was looking up at the bruised soldier. It was kind of funny to see he was half a head taller than the guy. But Blaine had learned long ago height made no difference when a superior officer was speaking to you. They were still just as terrifying. “What planet are you from?” He spoke slower this time, as if speaking to a child or a fool. Blaine almost wanted to laugh out loud but held it back. “Earth, Sir. Planet Earth.” The man’s eyes widened slightly and he stepped away, looking thoughtful.

“A meal will be brought to you shortly. You will go nowhere near the door and not attempt to leave. Is that understood?” Standing at attention he gave the only acceptable answer he could. “Yes, sir.” And with that everyone left the room, sealing the almost seamless door behind them. With a grimace he made his way over to the bed and sat down. If this was some sort of fucked up dream he would like to wake up now. His body was practically vibrating with the need to do something but he had no idea what these people wanted from him. He’d wait until the food arrived and rest for the time being.

[POV Interrogator Sorren]

Fiddling with his cap he let out a muted sigh. Whoever the mystery soldier was he had to have worked with a regiment from Krieg for some time to be so fluent in the language. There was no doubt the man was a liar. There was no regiment by the name of royal lancers and they most certainly were not from holy Terra. The local pdfs knew nothing about the strange red-head and neither did any of the local leadership.

Striding down the hall, his leather trench-coat flaring with each long stride, the man ignored everyone he passed- lost in his own thoughts. The redhead, Blaine Ackland if he was to be believed, hadn’t faltered once when speaking. No hesitation in his answers but there had been some confusion. It could have been because Kriegan Gothic was not his first language. But it seemed a little too convenient. “Interrogator Sorren, sir.” A young tech acolyte practically ran down the hall, breathing hard, and stopped in front of him. The brunette gave the acolyte a moment to catch their breath. “Something you need, acolyte?” Even the youngest of the tech priesthood were hard to differentiate from one another. Sorren found it easier just to refer to them by their rank. The young… androgynous acolyte gave him a small smile beneath their hood. “Magos Omitek has the read-outs you asked for. He wishes to examine the subject further.” That was quite surprising. The mysterious soldier didn’t seem to be all that unique. He couldn’t help but wonder what the magos had found. “Show me to him.” The acolyte started heading back the way he’d come.

Entering the area of the ship that had been given to the magos for the duration of their trip he spied a group of tech priests chattering at each other in their language. Whatever they were talking about had made them quite excited. The magos ended up being in the furthest laboratory, which made sense as it was the largest. “Magos Omitek, you wished to speak with me?” He called out into the cluttered lab. Almost immediately the magos was there, scrutinizing him for a moment before speaking. “The data on the specimen is completed.” The magos’ voice sounded like a speaker being shoved into a bin of nails but was still intelligible. “I see, was that all?” The magos turned slightly to the acolyte who was waiting nearby, the acolyte seemed to flush in embarrassment slightly, wincing. The magos screeched something and the young tech acolyte jumped to do his bidding. Moments later a dataslate was being shoved into his hands. Sorren wanted to rub at his forehead in exasperation. This was going to give him a headache and he knew it.

Looking through the data he tapped his finger on the side of the slate, leaning his hip against a table as he focused solely on the information before him. It was a failing that Inquisitor Vesalius was constantly chiding him for. Blinking when he had finished reading he set the dataslate down and crossed his arms as he digested the information. “This doesn’t make any sense.” Shaking his head he looked toward the magos. “He has the genetic markers for a Psyker but Inquisitor Vesalius already examined him. For all intents and purposes he’s a Blank.” The magos nodded. “It is fascinating. He also has a mutation that gives him extra extra glands that secrete a strange substance. I wish to test him further.” It was not a question, or a request for permission, so much as a statement. Sorren’s lips pursed. He would have to discuss this with the inquisitor. More tests could prove helpful but it could also hinder him in his information gathering. There was a fine line to walk between doing what was necessary and doing what was harmful.

“Thank you for your cooperation in this, Magos Omitek.” The machine man waved him off, mumbling something about more research. Sorren decided it was time to take his leave.

With the information he’d gained from the magos he knew two things for certain. The man was an enigma, but he was human. Which meant he would be able to use his favorite interrogation method. A small smile played at the corners of his lips as he walked through the ship.

[POV Blaine]

Just like they’d said someone had come to his room to give him something to eat. It wasn’t anything to write home about but it wasn’t terrible either. It eased the gnawing hunger and made him feel a bit better all around. Plonking himself down on the basic bed he sighed and put his arms behind his head. The bed was nothing more than a slab of metal sticking out of the wall with a very thin mattress on top but it was good enough. After days of staying awake with little to no sleep, sleeping in enemy territory, and even sleeping in trees when they’d lost some of their gear, the bed was perfectly serviceable. He wasn’t going to complain.

Staring up at the ceiling he let out a long sigh. It didn’t look like they would be releasing him any time soon. He had no idea who these people were or what they wanted. Just that they had helped him kill a cult full of crazy satanic kidnappers. Which hopefully meant they were the good guys, or at least decent people. Closing his eyes he decided there was nothing he could do at the moment and let himself fall asleep. You weren’t a proper soldier unless you could fall asleep at the drop of a hat.

A jolt of pain woke him and he yelped as he tried to back away from his attacker, eyes bleary and mind foggy. The world came into clarity and he could see a group of men with guns pointed at him. Two of them had guns, while the other two were hauling him off the bed to stand on the ground. They barked at him in that strange language and he held his arms up, confused but trying to cooperate. They pushed him from behind. “March, I get it.” He said with a hint of anger and fear. Leaving the room he looked around at everything, trying to judge what kind of building he was in. The place was huge. Huge and mechanical with gothic architecture and weird engravings everywhere. There were candles sconces in the hall but electric lights above them. It was the most confusing mix of styles he had ever seen in his life. Alarm bells began to go off in the back of his mind as they passed by someone in red robes working on a panel in the wall. At first he through they were another humanoid machine but as they turned to look over at the group Blaine could clearly see a human face. It had some weird apparatus over one eye and a mechanical arm but it was clearly a human. “What the fuck?” One of the guards shoved him in the back and he kept walking.

Eventually they came to a room and he was shoved unceremoniously inside. In the middle of the dark room, lit with a spotlight from above, was a chair with shackles coming from the floor beneath it. Blaine wanted to roll his eyes but he could feel a bubble of nervousness in the pit of his stomach. Back when he’d first joined up with the lancers they’d taught him how to take a beating and how to keep his mouth shut. So he knew what to expect. He didn’t struggle as they practically dragged him inside and shackled his legs to the floor and arms behind the chair. Resting his back against the chair he relaxed his shoulders so as not to strain them. Damaging himself fighting back, before he even knew what they wanted from him, was just a stupid move.

The guards all left the room, closing the door behind them, and he waited. Making him wait was supposed to build the tension and cause him to doubt. It was a good tactic but it didn’t really work on someone who knew they had nothing to hide. There was no clock in the room so he couldn’t tell how long he waited. His head began to feel foggy and his strength seemed to leave him. Head lolling forward he cursed inwardly. They must have drugged him. “Now we can begin.” His head jerked up as he looked for the man who’d spoken. He could barely see his outline outside of the light. “The fuck’d you drug me for?” His words were slightly slurred but comprehensible. The man didn’t answer him. He hadn’t really expected him to.

“What is your birth name?” Blaine blinked. He’d already answered the question. “Blaine Thomas Ackland, born Williams.” His brow furrowed slightly, he hadn’t meant to say that much. “Why the change?” he licked his dry lips. “I was adopted.” This seemed to appease him. “Where were you born?” It took a moment for him to remember, since he hadn’t been back to his birth country in many years. “Washington State, United States of America.” He wasn’t sure exactly where he’d been born. The Brigadier probably had the information somewhere but Blaine had never cared to read it. “What planet?” He huffed. “Planet Earth, where else?” Biting down on his lip to stop himself from saying more he cursed internally. Whatever drug they’d given him was making him more flippant than he would normally be, at least with an authority figure.

There was a long pause. “What year were you born?” Some of these questions just seemed bloody tedious. “August 19th, 1994.” There was another pause then a whispered question. A second voice from someone he couldn’t see answered the first. The man exclaimed something and the second voice calmly responded. More silence. “What do you know about the Cult you were found with?” Blaine grimaced. Drool was starting to slide down his chin and he couldn’t wipe it away. “I don’t know anything. Just that they wanted to kill me and tried bloody hard to do it.” Silence. “How did you come to be there?” Well shit. His lie of omission was probably going to get him in trouble now. “I remember walking down the hallway in HQ. All of a sudden I couldn’t move, something held my legs steadfast to the floor. This black stuff, I don’t know what it was, started crawling up my body. I reached for my gun but it pulled my arms down and held them to my body, I couldn’t get hold of it. It dragged me down into the floor and I blacked out. The next thing I know I’m standing in a room that smelled like a rotten butchers shop surrounded by hooded figures muttering incomprehensibly.” The saliva dripped off of his chin and landed on his pant leg. He could smell the faint acidic burning as it slowly ate through the fabric.

“What regiment are you with?” He grumbled. “The 12th armored infantry, Royal lancers, of her Majesty’s Armed Forces.” This answer was taken in stride, much like the other ones. “Are you a Psyker, sanctioned or otherwise?” That gave him pause. He lifted his head and stared right at the man in confusion. “What the hell is a Psyker?” There was a hushed conversation in the dark and he wondered just how many people were hiding in the room, watching him silently. It sent shivers down his spine. “Someone with Psychic abilities. You were seen controlling fire.” Oh, well that made sense. No use lying about it since he was seen, not that he could lie right now if he wanted to. “Yeah, I guess I am. Nobody’s ever been able to tell how I do it though.” That was met with a thoughtful sound. “Did you know you are a Mutant?” He scoffed. “I’ve known since I was eight. Disintegrating your pillow in your sleep isn’t exactly normal.” Okay, he needed to reign in his temper. Getting snippy wasn’t going to help him here.

“What can you do with your mutation?” There was no visible or audible reaction to his snark. He felt his guts twist with nerves. “I can secrete, gather, and spit a caustic substance. It is highly flammable and if sealed in an airtight container, it can become explosive. It burns on contact and can melt through skin. My skin is immune to it. Glass seems to be immune as well, not sure why. I am heat and fire resistant. I’m also completely immune to mind reading, telepathy, telekinesis, and other psychic phenomenon.” There was a long pause before the whispering started again. “What do you mean by immune to psychic phenomenon?” He groaned and let his head drop back down for a moment to gather his thoughts. It was really hard to explain. “The guy who tried to read my mind told me it was like I didn’t exist. The guy who tried to pick he up with his telekinesis said his power just slid around me, like I wasn’t there. When that one girl tried to read my memories she touched my hand and let go immediately, she said it was like looking into a black hole. I just don’t exist when it comes to psychics.”

This seemed to cause some kind of alarm in whoever was standing in the darkness with the guy in charge. “You said you were adopted, who were you adopted by? What job do they have?” The sudden change in topic made his head spin for a moment as he scrambled for answers. “Lord Lawrence Ackland, Brigadier General of her Majesty’s Armed Forces.” The energy in the room seemed to pick up slightly. “A lord you say?” Blaine nodded. “Yeah, though he hates being called lord. His military position is more important to him.” There was a moment of silence again. “What about a mother? Any siblings? Cousins?” He had no idea why any of this was relevant but he nodded again. “Grace Ackland, the Brigadier’s wife, and Droy Ackland, their son.” He wasn’t really sure about any cousins. The Brigadier and his wife didn’t have any siblings and they rarely got in contact with the rest of the Ackland clan. His mother was alone in the world, like he was. So he’d never met anyone from her family.

“If they had a son, why were you adopted?” That question stung. “They thought they couldn’t have kids. The doctors said mom couldn’t have children but they wanted a child. The Brigadier chose me and raised me as his own.” He took a calming breath. “Droy was born a year after I was adopted.” It had excited him as a young boy, to have a sibling and be a big brother. But as he got older he began to worry that they didn’t need him anymore. It was still a niggling worry at the back of his mind even now. “Is your brother also a soldier?” He snorted in amusement. “No. He’s a pacifist. The only thing I remember him actually hurting are evil spirits and a demo-” He choked in an effort to stop himself from speaking. Psychics were one thing but believing in demons was another.

Coming out of the shadows the man in charge walked right up to him, grabbed his chin in a gloved hand, and lifted his head. “Tell me what you know of Demons.”


	6. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so short. The holidays were tough and I ended up getting sick.

Waking early to the sound of shouting, footsteps pounding through the mud, and vehicles rumbling past the teen rubbed his eyes as he sat up from his cot. Still tired from the previous night he stumbled out of bed and plodded over to the tent flap. Pushing the fabric out of the way he almost ran straight into the breastplate of a soldier. With a gasp he took a hasty step back, wings flaring out behind him to keep his balance. Really, he needed to start looking before walking through doorways. It was becoming a bad habit. “Woah, you okay there kid?” Smiling sheepishly he looked up at the man’s face. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you Sergeant.” Blinking at him as if he was unused to being thanked the man slowly nodded. “Right. We’ve been ordered to advance. You’re going to stick with us but we need to get you kitted out first.” Droy felt his chest tighten with dread. “Advance?” The man sighed. “We need to push forward and put pressure on the enemy. Orders are orders. So be prepared.” A light flush of embarrassment colored his cheeks as the man spoke. They’d already told him they were in an active war zone, he should have been expecting this. “Okay…” At his worry filled tone the man looked as though he wanted to say something, but in the end he just turned away. “We’ll take you to the quartermaster and get you some gear. Come on.” Dashing back inside the tent he shoved his feet into his sneakers. Outside he followed the sergeant and his men, who he hadn’t noticed before. They greeted him with strained smiles, bodies tense. There was nothing he could really say to make them feel more at ease about the coming battle. So he kept quiet and listened while they bantered.

Their destination was a tent that looked like a cross between a storehouse for goods and a general store. A man outside hauling crates saw them and waved. “Something I can do for you?” Sergeant Janus motioned toward him. “We need a whole set of gear for our friend here.” The man looked Droy over for a moment then frowned. “Well, that might be a bit of a problem.” As all eyes turned to look at him he realised they were talking about the armor all the soldiers were wearing. It looked like one whole piece you pulled over your head. “Let’s start with fatigues first.” It wasn’t hard to find him clothes that fit. Apparently they’d had men as small as him in their regiment before. Having to tear holes into the back for his wings did not make the quartermaster happy though. The new boots were very uncomfortable and he wanted to complain when the man took his shoes, gave them a judgmental look, and tossed them aside. But he held his tongue. He didn’t exactly have a choice.

Now that he looked like a soldier, sort of, they moved on to finding him some armor that fit. Tucking his wings as close to his back as possible he tried to put on the first armor piece. It didn’t even make it past his shoulders before he pulled it back off, shaking his head. Handing him a larger size he hesitatingly pulled it over his head. With mounting apprehension he slipped the new one on. This time he was able to get it over his wings. He shifted about, moving his arms, but unlike his hoodie the armour was stiff and unforgiving. He winced as the pressure on his wings began to hurt. He had a hard time getting it off, panicking slightly before one of the men helped him. When his wings were free he combed the feathers gently with his hands to make sure they weren’t damaged.

“Hm. I’m not sure what we can do. We don’t have anyth- wait.” Turning he yelled into the tent. “Private, fetch me that new piece.” A head poked out of back and yelled an affirmative before disappearing again. A few minutes later the younger man came outside holding something dark in his hands. “Carapace armor. Just finished washing it too, it was a bloody mess.” Sergeant Janus and his men gave the quartermaster’s assistant dirty looks and his mouth clacked shut. Droy took the new piece and felt relieved when he realized it was a single chest plate. The straps fit snugly against his back, not interfering with his wings, and while it was a little on the large side it would definitely keep him safe from harm. “Now we just need a helmet and lasgun.” The blonde shook his head. “I don’t want a gun.” Everyone stared at him in disbelief.

“C’mon, kid. You’ll need to protect yourself.” Janus’ voice was stern but his eyes seemed worried. “Does he even know how to use a gun?” One of his men asked. Droy rubbed his arm nervously and sighed, closing his eyes. “I know how to use a gun. But I don’t want to hurt anyone.” He opened his eyes to pointed stares. “But you have that glowy sword!” Private Gameson stated. “My sword only works against evil spirits and demons. It passes right through normal people.” If they kept pushing him to use a gun he would have to put his foot down. Pacifist or not he was an Ackland. The word stubborn was invented for men of the Ackland bloodline. The silence stretched on for a moment before the sergeant sighed, putting the palm of his hand against one eye and rubbing it for a moment. “Kid, we’re fighting demons and warp spawn, not people. Those things you killed? That’s what we’re up against.” Well, that changed things. Now he felt silly. “O-oh, okay.” With the matter settled one of the men snagged his helmet and plonked it on his head. It was embarrassing, being made to feel like a child again. “Do you have a sword I can use?” The quartermaster gave him a disgruntled look but called to his assistant to grab him something called a ‘power sword’ before grumbling to himself. “…rather stab something than shoot it.” When he was handed the sword he stepped away from the men and gave it an experimental swing. Although he looked small for his age, and didn’t have much in the way of muscle, he had been trained to use the sword since he was young. The weight was bearable and it was fairly short. “Be careful with that thing, kid.” Droy held the sword, point down, and turned to look at the man. “I was taught the use of many different swords. I’m not going to cut myself.” The sergeant frowned. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” Coming up beside him the soldier held out his hand. Droy handed the sword over, watching him curiously. Very obviously Janus touched a part of the hilt and the sword became sheathed in energy. Droy’s mouth fell open slightly in awe. Switching it off the man handed it back to him. “Just be careful.” He nodded, holding the weapon with a bit more care than before. “I will.”

With his new gear he wanted to say he looked like the other men of the regiment, but that would have been a lie. Even without the wings he looked nothing like a proper soldier. Carrying the sword at his waist he listened with rapt attention as corporal Duncan explained the basics of using the lasgun. It wasn’t much different from a regular gun except that it fired lasers instead of bullets. If his brother were around he’d probably have been fawning over it. Droy frowned and Duncan patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry. It’s easy to maintain. It just needs a good cleaning after use and a quick prayer to its machine spirit.” That made him pause. “Machine… spirit?” The man struggled for words. “You know, the spirit that lives inside the gun that makes it work. If the spirit isn’t happy all sorts of things can go wrong.” Droy accepted this as one of the many superstitions these men had and promised he would keep the gun cleaned and the spirit happy. This seemed to please the large man.

“We’re being sent to the center, but not on the front line.” Sergeant Janus said, returning from wherever he’d gone to receive further orders. “Our orders are to keep back and assist where needed. Any wounded will be sent back our way to be fixed up.” Droy liked the sound of that plan. He knew he would be terrible on the battlefield as a combatant but as a field medic he could heal the wounded in not time. “Let’s move out.”


	7. Fire and Silver 3

Staring blankly at the white ceiling above him the redhead cursed under his breath. God how he was beginning to hate the sterile room they tossed his sorry ass back into after every test or interrogation. They’d taken enough fluids from him by now that he was surprised he wasn’t a dried out husk. Blood samples, urine samples, saliva samples- both kinds. But the worst was when the crazy bastard in the red robes demanded a lumbar puncture. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever experienced pain like that in his entire life. The hell did they need his spinal fluid for anyway? There was no way for him to know what the samples were even for, and he wasn’t sure he’d want to know if given the chance.

Surprisingly the interrogations weren’t as bad. By now they knew he was highly susceptible to whatever cocktail of drugs they gave him and were perfectly fine with leaving off on torture. Every question they asked him, whether humiliating or not, he answered truthfully and to the best of his ability- if only to build up some credit as an obedient prisoner. Honestly for a little while there he was worried he was going to be killed. The man in charge, who he now knew as Inquisitor Vesalius, had been intense when questioning him about the demon his brother had exorcised. Speaking so quickly and with such vehemence Blaine actually had a hard time keeping up, it made his head spin. From what he gathered demons were a real danger here, wherever here was, and the people here had a hatred of them that rivaled the heat of the sun.

Out of everything they put him through the most disturbing had to be the lectures he received on their twisted form of religion. A godlike man who had hidden amongst mortal men since the beginning of the human race- guiding them with his **Glorious Light**. The way they spoke made it seem like they thought they were doing him a favor, teaching him about the **Glory** of the **God Emperor of Mankind**. Who was also the greatest psychic of all time. Blaine had no idea what to make of it all but he nodded along in the lectures to keep his crazy jailers happy. There was no telling what they would do if he accidentally slandered their god. The way they spoke of heretics with such pure virulent hatred made him shudder at the mere memory.

Without a way to judge how much time had passed inside the room, save for the short period they turned out the lights to let him get some proper sleep, he couldn’t be sure how long he’d been held captive. It certainly felt like weeks, if not months. He was fed, clothed, and even allowed to have a quick shower every now and then, probably because the creepy fucker with all the metal attached to his face didn’t want his test subject to get sick. Technically he was being very well treated by his captors. But it was a hollow luxury. He itched to do something, anything, to kill the boredom. His body was so full of energy he kept fidgeting, like a child forced to sit still during class. The room was large enough for him to walk around, exercise, even practice his martial arts. But it wasn’t the same as a nice long jog outside or joining his buddies in the gym.

Hearing the telltale thunk of the lock disengaging he grudgingly got to his feet and held up his arms, palms forward, as he moved to the middle of the room. Four guards followed by Interrogator Asshole entered the room. They were wary of him, more so than before, and kept their guns trained on his body. After some very pointed questions from the Inquisitor about any secret missions he’d run for his government or other organizations they’d found out exactly how brutal and resourceful he could be in a pinch. His stomach clenched at the memory. He’d never told his family exactly what he got up to, not even the Brigadier. But the man seemed to know and understand anyway. The looks of sympathy the man gave him when they were alone made the guilt he felt all the worse.

“Lieutenant Ackland.” The man’s tone was almost dry and mocking, as if he still didn’t believe Blaine was who he said he was. It made him clench his teeth in a bid to keep from saying anything insulting back. Ever since the Inquisitor had grilled him about the demon and his experience in battle the Interrogator had started goading him, trying to get a reaction. It didn’t make much sense why. From what he could tell the guy didn’t seem like the jealous type. In all of their interactions he seemed more like the cold and calculating type, the kind of cold hearted bastard who only thought of people as numbers and made careful tactical decisions. He took a few calming breaths. ”Interrogator Sir.” He replied as blandly as he could, hiding his annoyance. Many people pegged him as a loud, rash, and hotheaded individual, not that he did anything about it. It was good cover. When people underestimated you it was easier to get the jump on them. The fact that he loved a good brawl didn’t help the image people had of him to begin with. But he wasn’t an idiot. Raised by Lord Ackland and graduating the military academy with honors he was well trained and disciplined. Something like this, meant to get a rise out of him, wasn’t going to get under his skin. It was exactly what he wanted- to see Blaine step out of line. Why? He had no idea. But he didn’t like it and he wasn’t going to play that game.

There was no need for words as he was motioned out of his cell and led down the echoing halls. The place was massive, there was no doubt about that. Massive and filled with engineering marvels the likes of which he’d never seen before. Someone had mentioned the words ‘ship’ and the name ‘Incendi Noctium,’ which he thought might roughly translate to Burning Night. The very idea that this was a ship boggled his mind. If it was a ship then it was larger than any aircraft carrier he had ever heard of. The sounds of machinery around him drowned out anything from the outside so he had no idea where they were. For all he knew they’d given him those tidbits on purpose, trying to throw him off. With how big everything was, and the amount of people he’d seen walking around, he was fairly certain they were in some secret facility somewhere. 

Turning down a corridor he’d never seen before he felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Every time they’d taken him to a new place it had been to experiment on him, interrogate him, or show him something unnerving to try and shake more information from him. Stopping in front of a door they entered a new room he’d never seen before. Eyes darting around he took in as much information as possible. Once they’d shown him a room filled with obstacles and blindfolded him. To test his memory, hearing, and reflexes they’d said. He still had bruises from that experience.

The room was about the size of a school gymnasium. Fifty feet wide and about eighty feet long. At equally spaced intervals a bunch of human shaped targets were set up, almost like a shooting range. With no table or any guns in sight he felt his stomach fill with dread. Standing imposingly against the wall the Inquisitor spied them and strode forward. Cold sweat rolled down his back. Whenever that man was in the room he knew he was in for some fresh new hell. “I want to see what you can do.” No context, no preamble, just firm commands. Not unusual for the terrifying bastard. It was either that or ranting about heretics and demon slaying. Honestly he preferred the commands, he was used to obeying orders.

Toeing the clearly marked line he looked down the room at the targets before looking back at the inquisitor, confused. “Um, Sir? I’m not sure what you want me to do here without a weapon.” The man looked mildly disgusted. “Set them alight, like you did to the heretical cult.” It took him a moment to realize what he wanted and he chewed his lip nervously, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just conjure up fire out of nowhere. I need a source.” The narrow eyed contemplation on the inquisitor’s face made him twitch and drop his hand to the side lamely. “You wouldn’t happen to be lying to me, would you?” Panic constricted his chest and he almost choked on his answer. “No, th-there’s no way I would lie. Haven’t I already told you this before?” He hated the truth drugs, absolutely hated them. They made him feel sick as a dog and weak as a kitten after every interrogation.

A full minute passed in silence before the man turned and called out in that odd language. One of the errand boys he’d seen running around appeared at his side almost like magic. He spoke in a language they called High Gothic and the boy dashed off to do his bidding. Blaine stood there for god knows how long as they waited for the kid to return. Of course he had no idea what he’d been sent to fetch and the anticipation made his heart beat faster in his chest. When the boy finally reappeared carrying a brazier his body relaxed in relief. Setting it down carefully the boy ignited the fuel inside and backed away until he was standing well behind the Inquisitor. “No more excuses.” The man said, tone light but he could hear the threat behind those words.

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves he reached out toward the fire with his left hand and toed the line again. Pulling his hand toward him a tendril of flames swirled through the air and surrounded him. For a brief moment he thought about using the flames to escape. But the sharp stare of the Inquisitor squashed that thought. The fire danced around his hands but he barely felt the heat. Gathering it into a ball he threw it like one might throw a baseball, sending it hurtling toward the first, and closest, target. Immediately the thing burst into flame and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. His moniker of Lieutenant Blaze was well earned. After all he was a bit of a pyromaniac. Once the target had been consumed he raised both hands and split the flame in two. With barely a twitch the fire arced through the air, consuming the next two targets on the second line at the same time. Like a predator descending on prey.

As the fire grew bigger it began to move faster, lashing out more aggressively. “How far can you control the flames?” The question came from over his left shoulder and he jumped, almost surrounding himself with fire on reflex. The Inquisitor gave him a smug look. Clearing his throat he turned back to the fire as it ate through the targets. “About three-hundred feet. But that’s pushing my control to the limits. It would have to be a small flame.” He’d used it to to blow up explosive from a distance before when the detonator wasn’t set up correctly. The man pondered his words for a moment. “How large of a fire can you control?” That was a little tricker to try and answer. “I’m not sure. You saw what I did to the… cultists. I think I could triple the size of that and still be in control. But it depends on what’s burning. It is has an accelerant or highly combustible material in it then it’s harder to control.” If the fire hit an explosive material then good luck with that. The backlash would break his concentration and the fire would burn out of control. It was why he tended to keep the fires he used small, just enough to surround his body or clear out a room. Anything bigger than that was asking for trouble. Either collateral damage, being discovered, or losing control. “Can you extinguish the flames?” Concentrating on the fire he pulled the flames together with both hands and compressed them. Pressing the fire into the ground it started to burn itself out. Sweat trickled down his face but the fire did eventually die. Gasping he let go of his control and doubled over, breathing heavily.

Cold green eyes appraised him silently for a moment, letting him catch his breath. “What else can you do with your ability?” Blaine blinked, unsure what to say. “That… was pretty much it. I can control fire but can’t create it from nothing. I can make it larger, smaller, spread it into a room to hit multiple targets, cover myself in fire to defend against enemies, lob it like a grenade, and extinguish it. That’s all.” Something flashed in the man’s eyes but it went by fast enough that Blaine couldn’t place it. “Take him back.” With that the man strode out of the room, errand boy and lackeys trailing behind. Leaving him alone with Interrogator Asshole and the anti-escape brigade.

Yawning as he was marched back to his cell he wondered why the inquisitor seemed strangely disappointed. Like he’d expected Blaine to be able to shoot laser beams from his hands or something. As if something like that could really happen in reality.

When they made it to his cell he was let back inside and plonked himself down on the bed, exhausted. A loud sound came over the speakers just as the door closed and he jumped, looking around for the voice. It was High Gothic again. Something about space, travel, and evil spirits? He was too tired to care. Rolling onto his side, his back to the blinding lights above him, he closed his eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep.

***

It was cramped and hot. Far too hot. It felt like he couldn’t breathe. His arms and legs were pinned at unnatural angles as the tiny light coming in from a hole shone into his eyes. There were screams and echoing laughter. The smell of blood and burning flesh, so familiar it made him want to gag. Sheer terror made any sound die in his throat. A bright flash and a wet thump. His body was cold and numb. Tears streamed down his face as a silent scream built up in the back of his throat, tasting like bile. Something fell to the ground, crashing loudly, and he heard yelling. He wanted to speak, to warn them away or to ask for help he wasn’t sure. But he could do nothing. Just sit there frozen in fear. Then to door opened.

Jolting upright on his bed with a sharp gasp of air Blaine reached up and pressed a hand to his chest. His heart was beating furiously, painfully, as if he’d just run a marathon at full tilt without stopping. His body was covered in cold sweat and a sense of absolute dread had settled over his shoulders, making him feel heavy. Pushing his hair back he looked around the sterile room and sighed in relief. The smell of acrid burning had him looking down at the bed and grimacing. It had been a long time since he’d had a nightmare, or spat acid onto his bed.

Back in the orphanage he’d had nightmares all the time. That he was being hunted and trapped by something unspeakable. Ever since he had been adopted by the Brigadier the nightmares had stopped. The stress of the situation must have triggered his old fears. With a groan he shifted to the other end of the bed and closed his eyes again. “A nightmare can’t hurt you.” He repeated this mantra a few times until he started falling back to sleep.

_“Because nightmares aren’t real.”_


	8. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was in a small car accident last week, which really sucked. But I'm doing okay. No real injuries, just shock. I had to do a ton of research for this chapter but there's a lot of gaps in information. If you guys notice anything I got wrong- let me know. I'm always looking to improve.

[POV Astropath Tomas]

Gasping as his meditative state was broken he came back to himself inside his quarters and stared at the walls around him in confusion. The low tones of the singing bowls and the smell of burning incense that usually brought peace to his mind hit him all at once and he reeled. What had he been… Practically leaping from his place on the floor he ignored the servitors standing along the walls and dashed to the door of his quarters. Outside a serf was waiting idly nearby, expression carefully blank. “Y-you there! Fetch me the Captain, immediately!” The man’s eyes widened slightly before he quickly hailed the captain. Since Tomas lacked any way to contact others inside his sealed quarters it was up to the serf to send his messages. But what he had to say was far too important to play vox tag with.

Thinking back to the message he had received his eyes glazed slightly. It had been so pure, unaltered, and strong. It practically sang through the warp, untouched though it wasn’t encrypted. He worried it was a trick concocted by the ruinous powers yet somehow he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Nothing he had experienced before could compare, save for the Soul Binding ritual. It was a both similar yet wholly different. Rather than the agony of having his mind and body purified with the Emperor’s blinding light it was as if his mind had been enveloped in a love for all mankind so strong it left him breathless. But it was no less potent a feeling. He was certain that if he had not been Soul Bound he would have been judged and found wanting by that light shining through the warp.

“The Captain is on his way. I’ll escort you.” Nodding fervently he followed the serf down the hall. They had no time to waste.

[POV Sgt. Janus]

As the fighting began to slow due to more powerful enemies appearing on the field their small group continued to move closer and closer to the front. They grabbed as many of the wounded they could, trying to stay in cover, and guarded the kid as he performed his miracles. Glancing back at him the sergeant frowned. He was looking a little drawn and pale. They knew he’d never been to a battlefield before but ti seemed to be more than that. How many of the wounded had he healed already? Was he coming close to his limit? He had no way of knowing without asking. But every time one of them brought it up he just said, “I’m fine,” and left it at that. He wanted to order a halt and let the kid take a break but his ability might be the difference between winning or being overrun. They couldn’t afford to baby him. If the kid collapsed though they would beat a hasty retreat back to the hospitallers to keep him safe.

Ducking behind a hastily made barricade he watched the clash between guardsmen and cultists with a seasoned eye.On their left flank the Confessor was riling up the men into a religious frenzy of devotion toward their new “saint.” On their right flank Hughes and the junior commissar were taking out hordes of enemies by themselves. All while the man bellowed at the soldiers around him. Overall everything was going much better than expected, not that he’d say it out loud. That was a one way trip to being cursed with poor luck.

The sound of something large hurtling through the air gave him pause and his head shot up. “Artillery!” He yelled in a voice that rose above the clash. Everyone dropped to the ground and got into cover as best they could. Regardless of whether it was their enemy or allies artillery was still one of the most dangerous things on a battlefield.

[POV Droy]

Everywhere he looked corpses littered the ground. Charred husks, bloody pulp, bits and pieces here or there. His heart clenched in his chest and he felt sick to his stomach. The bodies of the demons he could ignore. They were absolutely foul. But the men he couldn’t save made him feel helpless and weak. Shaking his head he turned his focus toward the men he could save and took a few calming breaths. Every man who was dragged to him was in terrible shape. Torn flesh, angry burns, missing limbs, and punctured organs. He worked as fast as he could without compromising the effectiveness of his power but the sheer amount of wounded made his head spin. The only thing keeping him going without breaking down was the look of trust and relief in the eyes of the men he helped. Every one of them believed he would save them. There was no way he could fall to pieces now, not when he was needed.

Glancing over to the sergeant as another man rose to his feet and sprinted off toward the front he watched the man’s eyes sweep the field in a calm and practiced manner. The man was ever wary of an attack and Droy was glad to be with his squad. A hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped, reaching for the sword at his side defensively. “You’re alright, kid.” Duncan’s voice was steady and calm as he gave the teen a reassuring smile. Droy took a deep breath, let it out, and nodded. He had nothing to worry about. These men would watch his back and protect him, just like his brother would if he were here. All he had to do was keep everyone alive and healthy.

A loud whistling sound blazed overhead and he heard sergeant Janus call out a warning. Wrapping his arms around the man that had just been brought to him by private Gameson his wings folded around the both of them instinctively, as if his feathers could stop whatever was coming toward them. His body trembled when the impact rocked the earth, showering everyone in dirt and rocks. The wounded soldier smiled at him gratefully and Droy fought back his fear as he finished healing. Taking up his weapons the man saluted their little group and turned toward the fight, only to pause and stare. Droy, worried, looked toward the front and saw a building sized, bright yellow, thing had landed between them and the front line where all of the fighting was. The fight seemed to halt when everyone started to notice it. The thing opened with a loud grinding and heavy thud as the metal hit the ground. Pouring out of it were giant metal men so massive that it boggled his mind. Were they robots? Some sort of mech suit like in the movies? They certainly couldn’t be people. “The Emperor’s Angels…” Private Gameson said in absolute awe, mouth slack-jawed. 

Immediately the group of ten, bright yellow, ‘angels’ fanned out and at speeds no human would ever be able to match engaged the demonic hordes ahead of them. The Confessor and the Commissar yelled their ranks back into order and everyone began to fight in earnest. It seemed like their spirits were lifted by the appearance of the giants. Duncan came into view, looking a bit shaken, and held out a canteen. “You should take a break. We’re not going to be needed anymore.” Droy took a nice, long, drink of water before handing the canteen back. “Why? What are those yellow giants?” Honestly he was so exhausted he could barely move his limbs. But taking a break and neglecting his duties when there were still people to help went against his core values. The man looked at him for a moment and shook his head. “Adeptus Astartes, the Emperor’s own children.” He spoke with a reverential tone that seemed at odds with his usual personality.

The battle on the front was heating up as the giants faced off against larger demons. A foul sensation swept through the battlefield and Droy shivered. Something big was happening. It was like thousands of evil spirits were coalescing into one giant being. A loud thunderclap startled everyone into ducking down, looking to the sky in case of danger. All over the battlefield more demons appeared as a pale white creature towered above the line of soldiers. It let out a hollow laugh and slashed at the yellow giants. Droy blanched in disgust as something seeped into the air from the powerful demon and some of the guardsmen faltered. Droy watched in horror as they began to turn on each other. The men around him looked grim.

Distracted by the men who were now fighting amongst themselves he was suddenly shoved aside and bounced off the ground with an “oof.” The sound of something ripping through flesh and a foul tang hit him at once as sergeant Janus cursed. “Duncan, fuck!” Pinned halfway to the ground by a sickly purple colored sword Duncan gurgled and reached down to touch the blade that had perforated his chest. His hands slipped on his own blood as he tried to pull it out, in a state of shock. Droy jumped to his feet as the man looked to his squad mates for help and finally settled on Droy. He could see the life being drained from the man right in front of him. The demon sword was sucking out his soul and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

As the man breathed his last breath private Gameson ran over to Droy. “Come on, if we pull it out you can heal him.” He tugged on Droy’s arm but the teen could barely hear him. “I c-can’t… you can’t heal death.” A numbness spread through his body as he stared at a man he considered one of his first friends here. A cackling laughter caught his attention and he turned to stare at the greater demon, now missing one sword. Inside his chest he felt a burning rage that only seemed to burn brighter the more he watched the carnage around him. Private Gameson backed away from him, looking frightened yet awed as a glowing sword appeared in the blonde’s closed fist. Marching over to the sword he cut it in half with his own. All the souls the sword had stolen were freed as it turned to ash. Duncan’s body slumped to the ground. Droy placed a hand on his back almost reverently.

Stepping away from the dead guardsmen he set his sights on the foul demon and readied his blade. The sergeant tried to speak with him but his words fell on deaf ears. With a speed that seemed impossible for any mortal to achieve he crossed the battlefield, blade held firmly in his hands. Anyone who tried to get in his way were cleansed by his sword or the sheer amount of energy he was giving off. One of the yellow giants wielding a staff paused to look at him as he flew past. Cutting down another lesser demon he spied the greater demonic creature ahead and grit his teeth. It was far larger than him and nearly impossible to get to. With one glance over the battlefield before him he spied a second of the yellow giants and raced toward him.

[POV Sgt. Jerrith]

The battle against the ruinous powers of the Slaaneshi daemons waged on. It was no major incursion but the regiment stationed here looked to be having a hard time. They could not, in good conscience, leave these men to their fate and doom an entire world. The captain had spoken to him about the hurried message the Astropath had received and they’d deployed the moment they came in range. Just in time, too. The cultist leaders had just finished summoning the greater demon as they took to the field.

Pulling back his power sword he heard something behind him. It was coming in fast yet it did not feel hostile. If anything there was a wave of righteous anger that overcame him. The frenzied guardsmen around him seemed to return to their senses as he ducked under another swing from the greater demon. Raising his gun he was about to shoot when movement right over his left shoulder had him turning his head in haste. White wings. A boy wreathed in light, wielding a golden sword, landed on his pauldron and immediately launched himself at the demon.

With sword raised high and a battle cry the boy slammed the weapon into the head of the greater demon. It writhed in pain, screaming incoherently, before it began to crumble. As it turned to ash the boy landed on the ground before the foul creature, eyes a glowing blue and wings outstretched defiantly behind him. The boy staggered, the sword falling from his grasp. In the next moment the boy was laying, limp, on the ground. The aura of light and the golden sword were nowhere to be seen. Many of the demons and cultists had been purged in the boy’s wake, freeing up what was left of the regiment.

Kneeling next to the boy he checked for a pulse. The boy was alive but his breathing sounded strange. “Brother Remiel, to me.” He dared not move the boy, in case something was terribly wrong with him. His small frame looked so frail that it was a wonder he had been able to slay the greater demon in one stroke. “Yes, Brother-Sergeant.”

As he stood there guarding the small figure a small group of guardsmen approached slowly, looking hesitant but determined. “Pardon me, my lord.” Looking down at the man he took in the worried expression on his face and the insignia on his uniform. “You may speak, Sergeant.” The man motioned at the boy. “We’d like to take him to the hospitallers, with your permission, my lord.” That caught his attention. “Do you know this boy?” The men nodded. “Yes, my lord. He is a guest of the 37th Meridian Infantry. He… he saved our lives, my lord.” If he had not seen it with his own eyes he would have been hard pressed to believe the child could have saved anyone. Before they could continue speaking Apothecary Remiel arrived, giving him a deferential nod. “Brother-Sergeant.”

He motioned toward the boy and the man got to work. “What do you know about this child?” The men deflated slightly and looked to their sergeant, who stood with his back straight and answered in a calm voice. “We know his name is Droy Ackland. He claimed he is eighteen, that he is the son of a Brigadier, and he… has strange powers no one can explain. Forgive my lack of knowledge, my lord. We haven’t known him long.” The sergeant was putting up a brave front but he was beginning to shake slightly. Sergeant Jerrith turned way from him, scanning the battlefield. There were more men converging on their position.

[POV Viridalas]

With no need for his gift any longer Epistolary Viridalas found his brothers and went to meet them. As he came closer he recognized the phenomenon that had momentarily passed over him during the battle. At first it had felt like a calmness had settled into the warp before it exploded into a righteous fury that burned the warp spawn away. The vile daemons were cleansed in droves and turned to ash before him. Now the warp had settled into a near calm state. It was unnatural yet intriguing.

He could see the prone form on the ground, being tended to by Brother Remiel. Where the figure lay the warp was like the eye of a storm. Bringing peace and calm. “Brother-Sergeant.” Jerrith turned to regard him for a moment. “Brother Viridalas. What do you make of this.” The winged boy was unconscious as the apothecary tended to him. Nearby a group of guardsmen stood in awe yet looked oddly determined to stand in their presence. “His presence is not tainted by the ruinous powers. He is most certainly a powerful Psyker.” Reaching out with his abilities he paused. Something felt off about the boy. It was hard to place.

“Brother-Sergeant, I would like to take him back to the Rutilus Lamenta.” As brother Remiel spoke the guardsman took a step forward, opening and closing his mouth. “You wish to say something, guardsman?” The man paled considerably. “Yes my lord. The last time he helped the regiment he suddenly collapsed. He slept for three days straight. If we just take him back to the hospitallers he can sleep off his exhaustion.” There was more the man wanted to say but he closed his mouth and waited. “The boy does seem to be in a state of hibernation.” Brother Remiel explained to sergeant Jerrith.

They all looked to the sergeant, who pondered their words carefully. He would make no hasty decisions. “Brother, if I may?” The apothecary shifted as Viridalas knelt next to the boy. Carefully he lifted one of the wings and studied it. “I concur with Brother Remiel. He should be brought back with us.” The guardsmen looked forlorn. 

[POV Torvus]

He groaned. The battle had taken a very odd turn and he’d had to shoot some of the men under his command. Hughes helped him to his feet, looking grim with a gash across one eye. The psyker fidgeted and sighed, looking defeated. “Junior Commissar Froederick is dead. So is… Colonel Ravun.” Torvus cursed. The man had been a good friend to him. Honorable and courageous. “He died in service to the Emperor.” Hughes nodded sadly, looking tired and depressed. “They’re taking him away…” Dusting himself off and gently prodding at his aching head he raised a brow at the man. “Who is taking someone away? And who are they taking?” Hughes shuffled back and forth, eyes unfocused slightly. “The Astartes… they’re taking the Saint away.” Finding his hat he set it carefully on his head and took a deep breath. “There is nothing we can do to stop them. Emperor help the lad.”

With Ravun gone he would have to take command until someone could be brought in or promoted. It would be a lot of work but the men of the regiment weren’t hard to motivate. It was time to regroup and lick their wounds. “Oh… that’s bad.” Torvus grumbled under his breath. “What is it now, Hughes?” The man blinked at him. “Sergeant Janus is going to do something stupid.”

[POV Sgt. Janus]

Standing in the presence of living legends he could feel the weight of the Astarte’s stares, even through their helmets. The sheer size of them was enough to instill fear. Speaking to the man in charge had taken all of his courage. Duncan had died to protect the boy, pushing him out of the path of a daemon’s weapon. Putting his own life on the line was the least he could do in his old mate’s stead. “A word, my lord?” Private Gameson him gave him an incredulous look, as if he couldn’t believe the sergeant was **still** trying to talk to the hulking immortals of mass destruction. Sure it was for the Imperium, but they were still terrifying. He took a step forward and cleared his throat when he was acknowledged. “I would like to go with him.” Silence reigned and he felt a coldness settle over him. He was certain he’d just stepped over a line he was not meant to cross.

“What is your reasoning, guardsman?” He could hear the near threat and his heart raced in his chest. “When he wakes he would feel less panicked if someone he knew was with him, my lord.” Some sort of communication passed between the three of them, he could tell as they moved their heads toward whoever was speaking. After a moment the leader of the space marines looked back at him. _‘I’m going to die.’_ Was his only thought.

“You may come as well.” All the breath left his lungs and he felt winded. He hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath.

Overhead the sound of a shuttle could be heard heading their way. The Astartes in the white armor carefully lifted the winged boy into his arms, careful of his wings. The kid looked even more like a child now, cradled in the arms of a giant. Without another word they headed toward the Thunderhawk. “Private, let whoever is left in charge know where we are.” The young man nodded slowly, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening before his eyes.

Boarding the ship he sat down and let out a stress filled sigh. Watching the white armored Astartes he wondered just what the hell he’d been thinking and what in the Emperor’s name he’d gotten himself into. But the kid was going to need someone to talk to. Someone human. And he had a feeling that it was meant to be him.


	9. Fire and Silver 4

[POV Interrogator Sorren]

Sitting at the monitor, fingers interlaced before him, he watched the footage again; eyes strained for any flicker of movement or change. Pausing the footage he ran a finger along the faint wispy outline of something floating above the man’s head. Looking through the data he checked the time stamps on the video and the log of the automated alert system. They were taking no chances with the prisoner. “Find something interesting?” A feminine voice called to him from the other side of the room. “Perhaps.” He didn’t have to look up to know that she was leaning against the wall next to him, having crossed the room silently. “What do you see there?” He asked her, moving out of the chair and letting her take a look at the monitor herself. Settling into the seat she took the image in carefully. “Do you mind?” Shaking his head he took a step back as she rewound the footage and watched it the whole way through.

The woman was an enigma to him. She wasn’t much younger, her being twenty-one while he was twenty-six. Lyesha, one of the few women within the inquisitor’s retinue, was intelligent yet rash. Her talents were plain to see, as were her faults. It was probably for that reason she had yet to be raised to the rank of Interrogator as he had been. Either that or the inquisitor intended to keep a close eye on her for the entirety of her service to the inquisition. After all he was her father. Although he wasn’t sure if she knew that fact herself or if her father had kept it a secret from her on purpose.

“It’s not distortion in the recording equipment.” Leaning back she looked up at him, eyes sharp. “It looks to be a manifestation of some sort, but I can’t tell what kind. The shape is far too vague. Were there any other abnormalities?” Placing the dataslate he had been holding onto the table in front of her he leaned against it and watched her eyes dart across the screen. “This isn’t some malfunction?” He shook his head. “Chief Enginseer Rodrachs was adamant that there was no fault in the systems. The temperature spiked thirty degrees at the moment of manifestation. After he woke it quickly returned to normal.” Chewing on her bottom lip, brows pulled together in a thoughtful frown, she began muttering to herself. “I’m not sure to make of it.” He thought as much. He was in the same boat after all. The inquisitor seemed to have an idea but left the investigation up to him. It seemed to be a test of some sort.

Putting the dataslate down she crossed one leg over the other and gave him a mischievous smile. “So,” she began, “I overheard some of the guards talking about you.” Standing a little straighter he raised one eyebrow nonchalantly. “Oh? What, pray tell, did they have to say about me?” Her smile widened. “That you seem to have it in for the prisoner because you don’t like how much attention he’s garnering from the inquisitor. That or you’re attracted to him and so you’re being particularly harsh in order to hide it. They didn’t seem able to decide.” At his disgruntled look she laughed, shoulders shaking in mirth. Honestly, she could be so crude when the inquisitor wasn’t around. “Your thoughts on the matter?” He wasn’t even going to dignify those allegations with an answer.

Standing from the chair she shook her head. “I think that you’re as you’ve always been; shrewd and frigid. You’re testing him to try and find a breaking point. If I had to hazard a guess I’d say someone has their eye on him. Talents like his are rare. So either you want him for your retinue when you get promoted, if you get promoted, or our inquisitor wants to keep him for himself.” She was sharp, like always. But unfortunately for her, he wouldn’t be explaining himself any time soon. Giving her a faint smile he took his seat again and went back to scrutinizing the data. “In any case, thank you for your input.” Though his words sounded dismissive they were sincere. Lyesha watched him for a moment longer before letting out a little sigh and leaving him to it. “You know, you would have made a great Logis.” Throwing one of her favourite taunts at him she finally left the room.

Relaxing his body once she was gone he looked over at the image again. Inquisitor Vesalius had been right. The prisoner was dangerous. More than first anticipated, if just traveling through warp space was having such an effect on him. It was no wonder the man was so fascinated. Now if only they could break through his delusions of being a man from ancient Terra they might get some use out of him in the future.

“This is going to take a lot of work.”

[POV Inquisitor Vealius]

It had been months since they’d picked up the mutant psyker on that throne forsaken world and already he had proven to be a difficult nut to crack. They had tried everything short of outright torture on the man and yet he still held to the delusion that he was from the far flung past. Even asking him how he knew Kriegan got them nowhere. Some made up story about learning to speak it at an academy. It wouldn’t be such a problem if the man didn’t want so desperately to return to this imagined past. The inquisition was full of eccentrics and those who were a little less than sane.

Standing in front of the large windows he stared out into real space, lost in thought. If everything worked out the way he suspected it would then the inquisition would soon have a strong tool with which to smite the enemies of mankind. Of course there was a high possibility the man would die before he could ever be utilized. “Sir.” Turning away from the window he tapped the on switch for the microphone. “I’m here.” There was a moment of pause. “We’re coming upon the planet, sir. Shall I hail the other vessel now?” A sharp look crossed the inquisitor's face. “Do so. I’ll be there shortly.” Everything was going according to plan.

[POV Blaine]

Feeling more haggard than he had ever been coming off the battlefield he sat in the middle of the room and tried to meditate. Each night he had the same nightmare. No matter which way he tried to approach it he didn’t understand the significance. Fire had never scared him before, neither had small spaces. So whatever was plaguing his mind had to do with something else, he was sure. The feeling of being chased or hunted down wasn’t new. Plenty of his missions had gone sideways in the worst possible ways. Scars covered his body from the many near misses he’d had with death. A knife to the gut, a shot that just barely missed his heart or major arteries, and a thin line that was barely noticeable around his neck where someone had tried to decapitate him with wire. Yet this fear that plagued him was an all encompassing terror that left him in a cold sweat. The kind of pure unfiltered horror that left his hands shaking and eyes wide like a child.

The sound of the door opening brought him back and he stood with a sigh. Expecting the interrogator he wasn’t prepare when the inquisitor himself came inside. Freezing in place he stared at the man silently for a moment before he could find his voice. “Sir.” Straightening into a proper salute he waited there in confusion while the man watched him silently. “Stand down.” He finally said. Hesitating Blaine let his arm fall to his side. “Come.” Obediently he followed the inquisitor out into the hall where a group of guards waited for him. Without another word the man turned and walked away, expecting him to follow. The guards shoved him when he didn’t immediately start walking and he stumbled for a moment until he got his feet under him.

Walking through the halls in the opposite direction he was usually taken he felt a sharp pain in his gut that screamed danger to him in large neon letters. Eventually the hallways opened up into grand halls with vaulted ceilings and he gaped at the gothic architecture. People scurried about, giving them a wide berth, though they stopped to bow or salute the inquisitor as he passed. Passing by huge windows he stopped and gaped, eyes wide. The guards pushed him but he remained rooted to the spot as he stared out into the vast void of space.

Ignoring the growling of the guards he stepped up to the window and touched it, as if expecting it to be some large painting or video screen. The Inquisitor, noticing he’d stopped, waved off the guards. “Never been on a warp ship before? I’m not surprised.” Blaine stared at him in awe. _“What the actual fuck!? This isn’t even possible!”_ The man frowned at him and Blaine shut his mouth. Right, they spoke German, not English. Ignoring his statement the man motioned for him to step away from the glass. “Come along now.” The guards trained their guns on him as he backed away from the window.

The more he saw the more his mind was completely blown. None of this should have been physically possible. The way the ship seemed to be designed was just so astronomically big. It would take far too many resources to make something like this. It just wasn’t practical. They’d told him he was in the future but he’d thought they were trying to fuck with his head. All of this just sealed it. He was no longer on earth and from the look of the planet he’d seen outside he had no clue if he was even in the Milky Way anymore.

The trip took far too long, in his opinion. They seemed to walk forever through the vast space faring vessel. Passing another set of windows he looked out as they walked past and spied another ship. God it was an ugly thing, not to mention hard to see. He wondered if the black coloring was to make it harder to see in the void of space or if they were taking the whole Gothic thing too far. It was surrounded by a number of other vessels, reminding him of a naval fleet, and the sheer size of the thing was staggering. Was everything in this time so massive?

They entered what he could only think of as a ‘shuttle bay’ from some science fiction move, like Star Wars, and he was quickly herded onto a ship. The guards sat around him yet far enough away that he couldn’t attack. They were well trained and he hated them for it. The inquisitor sat across from him, looking smug beneath his emotionless facade. The trip didn’t last long and they were soon docking with one of the ships he’d seen out the window. He rose when the guards did and followed the inquisitor into the airlock. Only now was he realizing the weight of his situation. He was in a time and place where he had no knowledge of how anything worked. Even if he tried to escape what could he do? He couldn’t fly a space shuttle back home let alone one of these space hulks. Not to mention everything was written in their damn garbled Latin. A feeling of dread settled over him and he sagged slightly. The inquisitor glanced at him but said nothing as they were finally allowed onto the ship.

“Inquisitor Vesalius.” A man in uniform strode forward and greeted them, a woman clad head to toe in armor trailing behind. As the officer spoke with the inquisitor in High Gothic Blaine watched the woman warily. She looked like she’d come straight off a battlefield in some fantasy novel. Her eyes narrowed at him and he felt a sense of uneasiness. Even his knees felt a little weak as her eyes bore into him. Shaking himself, almost like a dog shedding water, he stood straighter and stared right back at her. Something the inquisitor said must have caught her attention as her head swiveled to look at the man and her focus shifted away. He felt relief settle over his shoulders.

Without saying a word to him the man and all his lackeys suddenly left. The airlock closed behind him and he felt a shiver of fear run down his spine. The officer spoke to him in High Gothic but he could barely comprehend the words. The female knight grabbed his arm and he felt sick to his stomach as she pushed him forward, ordering him to march without words. He had no idea what fresh hell he’d found himself in and was so out of his depth it made his head spin. Gritting his teeth he continued to walk, shoulders unbowed. As long as he could survive he could find a way back home.


End file.
